


shrewd slytherin

by lucy_blue



Series: those cunning folk [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 90's Culture, Abusive Dursley Family, Canonical Child Abuse, Draco Malfoy Speaks French, Gen, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Hogwarts Inter-House Friendships, Lawyer Andromeda Tonks, Lawyer Ted Tonks, No Bashing, One Big Happy Weasley Family, Parseltongue, Pureblood Politics, Ravenclaw Debate Night, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Thief Harry Potter, Tom Riddle the Homicidal Talking Diary, Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter), badass lawyers Andromeda and Ted Tonks, can someone please write more lawyer!Andromeda/Ted fics?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-05-14 02:09:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 68,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14760617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy_blue/pseuds/lucy_blue
Summary: You'd think after the drama at the end of first year, Harry would be able to finally catch a break. But nope, too much to ask for.Harry suffers through a miserable time with his "family", and the Weasleys seem all too perceptive. Harry's secrets begin to come out and he must deal with the public's rapidly changing opinion, the starving basilisk hidden in the pipes of Hogwarts, an annoying house elf, politics within Slytherin, and, later, Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban. At least he's got the Weasleys and the rest of his friends to help him, as well as Hagrid's newest pet- a surprisingly friendly Grim- to hang out with.





	1. idle hands

Uncle Vernon slammed on the brakes abruptly, and then leaned down hard on the horn. Harry narrowly avoided slamming into seat in front of him, and Dudley, who was too heavy to be affected, sniggered rather nastily from his side of the car.

“What a twat. Obviously never learned how to drive properly,” Uncle Vernon huffed angrily, his handlebar mustache twitching with irritation. “But anyway, as I was saying, those damn immigrants have been…” Harry returned to staring dully out the window. He wanted to be anywhere other than here. Why couldn’t he stay at Hogwarts over summer break? 

His only comforts were the weight of his invisible bag, filled up with all his necessities, and the cool scaly feeling of Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk against his neck. He could feel the outline of his wand firmly against his side; he wanted to pull it out, though he wasn’t sure if he just wanted to feel the comforting feeling of it, or if he wanted to use it on the Dursleys- see the look of fear and grudging respect on their faces. 

Outside the window, tidy suburbia blurred as it rushed by, looking very bland and unappealing compared to what Harry had been used to recently. All of the houses looked about the same. There was a sort of sleepy feeling to it all, like everyone was only vaguely aware of what they were doing, just running through life on autopilot without ever putting any sort of real thought or passion into anything they did. 

Dudley, in the back with Harry, was loudly chowing down on a Mars bar. He made a little noise of enjoyment, obviously trying to rile up Harry; when Harry looked over, he licked his greasy lips in exaggerated pleasure. 

“Not to say,” Uncle Vernon was saying firmly from the front, “That all immigrants should necessarily be banned… that would be rather racist and I’m not a racist… but if they’re going to come into our country, they’ve got to assimilate. We’ve got to protect our heritage, protect our history… most of them aren’t even making a stab at assimilating…” He gave his head a disparaging shake. 

Even with the ride as painful as it was, Harry wasn’t happy when they pulled into the Number Four, Privet Drive, either. The two story, immaculately clean house looked just as detestable as it had when Harry left it; the time away from it had even made Harry hate it a little more here. After a moment, Harry reluctantly opened up the door and stepped out. 

Uncle Vernon opened up the boot of the car, took a nervous look at Harry’s sturdy and obviously magical trunk, and then bellowed, “Boy! Come get your luggage!” 

It was with considerable effort that Harry lugged the trunk up the driveway- and when he reached the doorstep, Aunt Petunia spoke up, her lips pursed like she had just sucked on a lemon. “I won’t have it in my house,” she said. 

“Where are we going to put it then?” Uncle Vernon asked, sounding a little bit annoyed.

Aunt Petunia shrugged quickly, her nose wrinkling, then said after a minute, “We’ll have to burn it.” Her brow wrinkled, and then she sighed, saying, “It's got to be done in fireplace, otherwise the neighbors will see.” She pointed a bony finger at Harry. “But don’t you dare let it touch my floors, I just waxed them!” 

Harry was infinitely grateful he had the stuff he really needed safely hidden away at his side. Carrying the trunk into Number Four, Privet Drive, was quite difficult; he almost bumped the trunk into one piece of furniture or another several times. The first time, Aunt Petunia gave him a hard slap on the back of his neck, which of course further distracted him, so she didn't do it again. Still, every time it nearly brushed a couch or chair or cupboard, she gave out a little high pitched shriek, and Uncle Vernon would gruffly order, “Be careful, boy!” 

The trunk barely fit into the fireplace; Harry had to wiggle it about, until all of it was inside the fireplace. He gave his trunk a long, mournful look; his school clothing, most of his Christmas presents, his much-loved night sky poster, and his zines were all in there, about to go up in smoke. 

Uncle Vernon returned, holding a box of matches. Grinning maliciously, he lit the first one, and dropped it onto the trunk. Chuckling, he watched as the fire… didn’t catch. In fact, after a few seconds, the match went out. “It must be the resin,” Uncle Vernon said at last, frowning. “Petunia, go get some hairspray, that’s quite flammable…” 

After spraying the trunk with an entire can of vanilla scented hairspray, Uncle Vernon lit five more matches, which he dropped all at once onto the center of the trunk. Still, the fire wouldn’t take. With a huff of frustration, Uncle Vernon reached into the fireplace and pulled the trunk out; Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror as the ashy bottom of the trunk scraped across her freshly waxed wood floor. 

Ignoring Aunt Petunia’s cry, Uncle Vernon, “Fetch me my hatchet, Dudley.” After several minutes (Dudley couldn’t be bothered to walk fast, let alone run) Dudley returned with the small hatchet Uncle Vernon used to chop wood whenever he wanted to feel particularly manly and strong. 

Uncle Vernon hefted the hatchet, and then brought it down as hard as he could onto the trunk. But, instead of burying itself deep into the wood, the hatchet actually bounced back off, coming close to hitting Uncle Vernon hard in the head. Harry had to work hard to swallow his laughter. 

Staring at the hatchet in horror and fear, Uncle Vernon choked out, “boy, put that- put that thing in the cupboard.” 

Still stifling his urge to laugh, Harry picked up his now ash-smeared trunk and carried it over to the cupboard. Aunt Petunia pulled a small key out of her dress pocket and unlocked the padlock. Harry was surprised to see his emerald-inked letter from nearly a year ago, still on the floor of his cupboard where he had smuggled it way back when. Harry was filled with a rush of nostalgia; the day he had found out that he was going to be able to leave the Dursleys for the magical world was one of the best of his life. 

Aunt Petunia was not happy with his little trip down memory lane; luckily she didn’t see the letter otherwise she would angry about more than just how slowly Harry was moving. She gave him a hard little prod, and shrilly ordered, “hurry up.” With a sigh, Harry dropped his trunk down onto the floor of the cupboard, then stepped out. Aunt Petunia quickly locked it back up again, her fingers trembling. She let out a relieved breath when the cupboard was locked, even half-collapsing against the wall like she had just managed to lock up a rabid dog. 

With another, longer sigh, Harry slowly climbed the stairs and entered the smallest bedroom. It looked just as Harry had left it; Dudley’s junk covering most of the floor, piled up against the walls, filling the space on the bookshelves that should have held books. Harry locked the door, and then started to settle in. 

First, he let Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk slide off of him and onto the floor. Then, he swept all of the junk out of under the bed so that there was plenty of room. Next, Harry took out all of his books, parchment and quills. He grabbed a big box, which contained a gigantic, half finished model plane, and emptied it out onto the mess of other junk on the floor. Then, he slowly slid all of his books and school supplies, and wand into the box. Then, he put that at the back of the space under his bed. He did the same thing with another box, and his stash of candy. His two Lord of the Ring books he figured were safe enough he could keep them out in the open; he put them on one of the bookshelves, which had a few other books that Dudley had been gifted- which he had of course never bothered to read. 

After that, he shoved the mess back under his bed, so that it would look about like it had before. 

“Can we go outssside now?” Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk asked. “I hate thisss room…” 

Once Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk was hidden under Harry’s clothes again, they went outside. The garden, Harry thought, looked slightly wilted; probably, without Harry to slave away for her, Aunt Petunia had been unable to keep it in immaculate condition. The heirloom roses especially looked thirsty; Aunt Petunia had probably forgotten that you were supposed to give them a nice good soak twice a week, not just a couple pass overs with the hose whenever she happened to remember. 

Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk was off almost at once, wanting to know what had changed in “her territory” since she had been away. Harry turned the hose on and started watering the roses, enjoying a deep breath of their fragrance as he did so. In all honesty, he did like gardening… he even kind of liked cooking. He just wished that the Dursleys would thank him for all the work he did, praise him for how well he cooked, how well he tended their plants. 

After Harry finished with the garden, he had dinner to cook, and more chores to do after that. This continued on; now that it was the summer, Harry spent the daytime doing all of the chores Aunt Petunia assigned him. Before Harry was revealed to be a wizard, he would have had twice the amount he had now; as it was, Harry considered the chores he had to be a light, easy load. He only had to cook breakfast and dinner, water and weed the garden, and wash the dishes everyday. During the part of the day he wasn’t spending doing work, he would nap, or maybe wander down to the park. 

There were two reasons why Harry spent almost all of his free time each day napping. The first was, he couldn't sleep properly at night. He had trouble drifting off- his thoughts would turn to Quirrell, wondering if what had happened counted as murder, wondering what his friends were up to, worrying about Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk being caught by Aunt Petunia, and a dozen other things. If he slept at all, he got dreadful nightmares. A week or two ago, he had gotten one so bad, he had woken up screaming at the top of his lungs. Aunt Petunia, despite her lingering fear of Harry, scolded Harry quite thoroughly, as well as leaving his arms covered with bruises from where she had pinched him over and over again. This also meant Harry would have to wear long sleeved shirts in the heat until the bruises disappeared. 

The second reason was that the only time Harry could do any of the things he liked was at night. Harry would go to bed at eight every night; he kept his old Mickey Mouse alarm clock on vibrate, under his pillow, so when it woke him up at eleven, he wouldn’t wake the Dursleys. 

Then, Harry would turn on the dim sketching lamp Dudley had gotten for Christmas several years ago, pull his blankets off of his bed, and make himself a sort of nest, up against one of the walls. He had already finished his essays, so instead he would read his school books, writing down questions he had, or ideas he had gotten. He planned on sending them to Hermione later; he didn’t have access to an owl, so he couldn’t contact her, until she had contacted him first. 

Or, if Harry didn’t want to study, he would continue from where he had left on in the LOTR book he was reading. He was already almost done with the Two Towers; when he had finished the entire series, he planned to see about checking some other books out of the public library. 

Still, Harry wasn’t enjoying himself much. Slowly, as Dudley got used to Harry’s presence again, he started annoying Harry again. The first time, Harry responded with some made up “magical” words to scare his bullying cousin off, but his bit of fun backfired; Harry got only one meal a day for the next week. Harry ate candy from his stash to make up for the lost meals. 

After that, Harry went back to the strategy he had used when he was younger, of just ignoring Dudley as best he could. It wasn’t a very good one, though; Dudley would wake him up when he was trying to nap by pinching or prodding him. If Harry was anywhere in the house, Dudley and his friends were sure to find a way to torment him. 

So Harry started leaving the house. He holed up in the library, and slept there, until the librarian told him off for it. He tried sleeping in the park, but Dudley and his friends found him there, too. Harry was woken up by Piers yanking on his hair as hard as he could, and then they all taunted him for “acting like a homeless guy”. 

Harry was getting kind of bored of just spending all of his time reading, anyway; he had read all of his textbooks, and he didn’t feel like rereading them. So, instead, he started wandering around, and further exploring around where he lived. 

Harry discovered there were two interesting places to visit in one of the nearby, slightly more rundown neighborhoods, which was about half an hour’s walk away. The first was a small grocery store, which sold all sorts of food for cheap. The second was a clothing store. The clothing in it was all at least three seasons out of fashion, and some of it was second hand, but it was otherwise good quality. 

Harry didn’t have enough money for either, though; his total life savings, of muggle money at least, was 20 pounds and 5p. He resigned himself to window shopping, until he realized while he couldn’t buy anything there, he could easily steal it- and with almost no risk of getting caught. 

Harry took his book bag, and wrapped it up in his invisibility cloak, like he had done when he needed to smuggle his magical things into Number Four, Privet Drive. He tucked his meager amount of money into his back pocket- figuring he would need to buy something so as to not be suspicious- and began the half hour walk. 

Harry went into the clothing shop first. He confidently walked in and began casually grabbing tons of clothes, figuring if he tried on lots of clothes, the clerk wouldn’t notice one or two missing. 

“We just got back from vacation,” He explained to the curious clerk, “and something happened to the luggage. We don’t know what, we’ve been calling the airport, and they don’t know either… we have no idea how long it’ll be, and I’m already sick of wearing these ugly, old hand-me-downs, so…” He shrugged. “My dad’s going to be annoyed at me, he keeps on telling me it’s going to be back in just a couple of days, but,” Harry lowered his voice like he was sharing a secret, “I think that they’re gone forever.” 

The clerk, a teenager who was half heartedly flipping through a magazine, laughed. “That happened to me once,” she said. “It took three months to get my luggage back, and there was a huge stain right across the front of my suitcase.” She wrinkled my nose. “It was a nasty shade of brown, and I still don’t know exactly what it was.” 

“You probably don’t want to know,” Harry responded, and the teenager grinned. “Is this the changing room?” 

“Yup,” the teen said. “Don’t bother fiddling with the knob, the door automatically locks.” 

Harry stepped inside with his huge haul of clothing, and, with a feeling of immense luxury, began trying pieces on. He tried on jeans and polo shirts and button ups; he even, feeling a little bit daring, tried on a sheepskin jacket that was obviously from the eighties. 

A lot of it didn’t fit, and the stuff that did felt a little bit too childish, but there were a couple of pieces Harry liked; there were some trainers that fit very nearly perfectly, and two polos as well as a button up that Harry liked the look and fit of. He carefully tucked all of them away into his book bag, except the cheapest of them, which was £5.20. Harry went up to the counter, carrying all of the rejected clothing in his arms. 

“Just put it down over there and I’ll sort it out later,” The teen said with a lazy wave of her hand.

“I’ve only got one thing,” Harry said mournfully as he counted out his money. “I think I’m too small and shrimpy to shop here.”

“Well, this is a second hand shop,” the teen said. “Things cycle out, if you check in later, we may have loads of stuff your size.” 

“That’s a good point,” Harry said, taking his change and receipt and tucking them into his pocket. “Thank you.” He walked out, her confident stride concealing his pounding heart. 

He’d done it! The clerk hadn’t suspected a thing. He’d gotten what would have amounted to about £35 of clothing for only £5.20. With a cheerful spring in his step, Harry headed off to the little grocery store. 

The second time wasn’t much easier, Harry would find. 

This time, instead of only covering his bag, Harry took out the Invisibility Cloak and wore it. He walked lightly, putting down each foot slowly and deliberately. He walked slowly, every nerve on edge, part of him still not believing that he was invisible. 

He first grabbed a bag of crisps, maneuvering ever so carefully so that every part of him, including his hand, was covered with the Invisibility Cloak. Following the same method, he also grabbed a can of pop and a Mars bar like the one that Dudley had been eating when Harry had came back to number four, privet drive. 

Harry’s heart was pounding even faster. He wanted to sprint out of there, but he forced himself to move even more slowly than before, still walking deliberately, still making sure his cloak covered every inch. His heartbeat sped up even more as he successfully exited the grocery store and nothing happened. Once again, he had pulled it off!

Still invisible, he settled on the grass of some random muggle’s lawn and began to eat. He’d never had a Mars bar, or a Coke, and had only ever been allowed a few crisps, so this was a really big treat for him. Harry ate slowly, savoring the way the carbonation made the pop feel against his tongue, the salty goodness of the crisps. 

Full and sleepy, Harry lay back on the grass. It must have been two or three hours since he left number four, privet drive; Harry was incredibly tempted to not bother coming back. He could steal his food and he wouldn’t have to do any chores at all. He wouldn’t be pinched or slapped, ignored or taunted or always given the smallest, worst portion. He would be free.

But Harry knew he had to go back. His magical things were there, as was Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk. So, with some reluctance, he gathered his trash, and started back home. 

Harry continued coming back whenever he had time. Over time, as he gained experience, Harry became better and better at it. Walking silently, making sure his invisibility cloak always fully covered him, became almost second nature to him. He would steal food from the small grocery store frequently, sometimes eating it before coming home, but other times smuggling into the house and hiding with the rest of his stash, which soon grew to include crisps, some muggle candy, a few protein bars, an apple, and even a box of cookies (with no milk or eggs, of course). Harry dug into the stash whenever he got hungry while he was awake late at night, or if the Dursleys restricted his access to food. 

Over time, the grocery store began to notice what was going on, and taking action; Harry noticed a small security camera in one of the aisles. This made him more cautious, but he didn’t stop; he knew that his Invisibility Cloak and careful silence would keep him from being caught. 

Harry also stole from the clothing store once more. This was harder and a lot more risky. Harry couldn’t steal from the clothing store while completely invisible, so he had to instead hide his book bag, and try to act natural. Harry found stealing from the clothing store more dangerous because of this, and since better clothing wasn’t as desperately needed, he only stole from there twice in total. 

There was one time in the grocery store that Harry was able to steal something much better than just food. He was carefully edging around a group of fellow customers- a dad trying to juggle his three young kids- when the dad bent down to pick up a dropped jar of peanut butter, causing his wallet to stick out of his back pocket. 

Harry took several quick, light steps forward, and then, before his nerves could leave him, grabbed the wallet, making sure as he did so that both the wallet and his hand were covered by the Invisibility Cloak. 

The man, distracted trying to grab his daughter’s plump arm and prevent her from running off to the candy aisle, didn’t notice. Harry felt a small surge of guilt at what he had done- the man wouldn’t be able to buy the food in his cart- but he’d already done it, taken the opportunity presented to him, and trying to put the wallet back now would be dangerous. 

Despite how well things were going, one thing wasn’t going quite as nicely. Now that Harry was sleeping in the night again, he continued getting loads of nightmares. Most featured Quirrell. Sometimes the plant choked him, other times he was scorched by the odd green light, pecked to a bloody pulp by the keys, squashed under the troll’s club, or put under the Imperius. His least favorite was a reccuring one where he burnt his parents’ faces off by accident.

When he was at Hogwarts, he would read out every star and constellation on his night sky chart, and cuddle Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk, in order to fall back to sleep, but his night sky chart was locked in his trunk, and Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk was sleeping outside out of fear of Aunt Petunia discovering her. Harry was almost constantly tired, and huge bags under his eyes were now a permanent fixture. 

Even worse, none of Harry’s friends wrote him. Harry didn’t need them to write, it wasn’t like he relied on his friends or anything- he’d lived for eleven years without any human friends, after all- and yet… They had all promised to write each other, and Ron had even asked if Harry wanted to come over to his house over the summer. 

Harry supposed that his friends were just too busy to be bothered. Hermione was vacationing in France, practicing her French, shopping in Paris, skiing in the Alps, and all that. Harry couldn’t blame her; if he was in France, he probably wouldn’t want to write his bland, boring friend who had to steal to get clothing that fit him. Not that Harry would ever let Hermione know about that; he didn’t want her pity, or her lecture about ethics and morality. 

Padma and Parvati, he knew, were visiting India; one of their cousins was getting married, and it was supposed to take an awfully long time. They hadn’t seemed to be looking forward to it much; Parvati said it was fun at first, but got dull pretty fast, since she’d been to dozens. But, he supposed, maybe owls couldn’t get to Britain from all the way the way in India… or something. 

Harry thought that Neville was going to be staying in Britain, but Harry knew Neville would be busy caring for all of the plants in his greenhouse at the Longbottom Manor, and Neville was awkward, likely to withdraw due to his own shyness. 

And Ron… well, he may not be going anywhere, but he had tons of siblings who he could always play with or hang out with if he got bored. Why would he need to owl one of his friends, when he could play Quidditch with his family, or something like that, instead?

Harry wasn’t lonely. He wasn’t. He refused to be.


	2. negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry likes to think that he's like a cat- good at landing on his feet.

At ten minutes to midnight on July 30, Harry was carefully pressing candles into the frosting of his stolen cake. It was a chocolate cake, just like the first cake Harry had ever gotten, the one Hagrid had given him, but there wasn’t any inscription- no messy writing in green. Harry couldn’t help but wish he was eating cake with his friends at the Weasleys, with Hagrid’s messy handwriting adorning his cake. 

But Harry couldn’t be picky. This was better than most years had been. Harry may not have anyone to celebrate with aside from Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk, who he’d smuggled inside to celebrate with him, but Harry had cake and new books from the library to read and plenty of food, hidden away where the Dursleys couldn’t find it and take it away from him. 

With great care, Harry used his single, solitary match to light each of his candles. Staring into the candles, he said quietly, “I wish that next year, I won’t have to deal with any of the crap the Dursleys give me every time I come back to Privet Drive.” 

“Fire,” Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk hissed in alarm. “Fire!! Run, Harry!” 

“Ssshhh, it’sss fine,” Harry said, keeping one eye on the clock. Just as it chimed midnight, he bent down and blew out his candles. “Ssseee, Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk? No more fire. It’sss just a human cussstom.” 

“It’sss foolisssh,” Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk said, disgruntled and embarrassed. She started slithering a little ways away from Harry. 

He cut himself a thick slice of cake and began slowly eating it. At first, he savored it, enjoying the taste, but then, it began to get too sticky. It felt like it was choking his throat, like he couldn’t quite draw proper breath. His eyes were turning wet, and he had to press at his eyes, trying to keep the tears from flowing down his face. 

“Are you alright?” Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk asked, quickly slithering right up to Harry. “What happened? Wasss it the fire? I told you we ssshould have run. Fire isss a terrible idea. You ssshould have lissstened to me.” 

“I’m fine,” Harry said, trying to stop crying. “Just… Yeah, I’m- I’m fine.” 

“If you’re sssure,” Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk said doubtfully. She started to slither around Harry’s arm, and up into his shirt. “Birthdaysss are foolisssh too, you know… it’sss sssimply the day you happened to be born on.” 

“Humansss are ssso weird,” Harry replied in a soft Parseltongue whisper. “You’re right, birthdaysss don’t matter much.” But he knew that he was just lying to himself, and from the unhappy little hiss Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk made, he knew that she was well aware of how he really felt, too. 

That following morning, Harry was woken up as usual by Aunt Petunia’s sharp rap on his door. “Time to start cooking!” She ordered in her brisk, shrill voice. “Make sure you cook the bacon properly this time, and don’t burn it.” 

With a quiet groan, Harry rolled out of bed and pulled on some of Dudley’s old clothes; he couldn’t wear his new wardrobe where the Dursleys would see it, and get suspicious. He only had time to splash his face and give his teeth a few swipes over with his toothbrush before Aunt Petunia was rapping on his door again, shrilly telling him to hurry up. 

“Ssstay here,” he told Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk quietly. “I’ll come get you later, once I’ve done breakfassst, okay?” 

“Sssure,” Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk said. “Can you sssneak me an egg?” 

“I’ll try,” Harry promised, and then he had to hurry out, knowing that next time Aunt Petunia wouldn’t rap on the door, but rather on his knuckles with the first painful thing she could find. 

Harry entered the kitchen and pulled out two frying pans. The one for the eggs he poured an obscene amount of oil onto. Then he grabbed the eggs and bacon out of the fridge; as he did so, he discreetly tucked an egg into one of the kitchen drawers, so he grab it later. He cracked the other eggs into the pan, tossing the egg shells into the trash, and then laid the bacon out on the other frying pan. 

Once the eggs and bacon were all cooked, he brought them to the table, where Uncle Vernon and Dudley were impatiently waiting, not sated by the toast Aunt Petunia had given them. Aunt Petunia, on her part, was nibbling on the fruit salad and yogurt she ate every morning. 

Harry shoved some egg and bacon onto Uncle Vernon’s plate, then onto Dudley’s plate. Then, he grabbed two pieces of bacon and some eggs for himself. Aunt Petunia gave him a nasty look. “Beggars shouldn’t be greedy,” she said, her mouth bunching up, and Harry hastily one of the pieces of bacon to the pan. 

Harry ate slowly, savoring the soft texture of the egg, the crunchy salty flavor of the bacon, the sour coolness of the orange juice. He was finishing his toast when Uncle Vernon let out a burp, wiped his greasy mouth, cleared his throat dramatically and then said, “Now, as we all know, today is a very important day.”

For the barest split second, some part of Harry incredulously wondered if Uncle Vernon was talking about his birthday… but then Uncle Vernon continued, “This could very well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career. If this dinner party goes according to plan, we will be living quite comfortably. I have my eye on a lovely vacation home in Majorca that will be easily within our budget if we make this deal.” 

Aunt Petunia gave an excited squeal. “Yvonne is always talking about Majorca… she says it’s quite nice there, especially during the summers…” 

Even Dudley looked up in interest.

Majorca sounded pretty nice to Harry, but smuggling everything there would be very difficult… and he doubted the change in scenery would suddenly spawn familial feelings in his relatives. 

Mr. Dursley smiled smugly, and cleared his throat importantly. “I think we should run through the schedule once more, just to be sure of things. We should all be in position at eight o’clock."

Hermione had also visited Majorca at one point, though she’d not stayed there very long, only a few weeks, if Harry recalled correctly. She’d been talking about how she knew a smattering of Spanish, which she had learned for the trip. 

Harry could probably ask her to teach him what she knew. Hermione and Padma practiced their French together, sometimes; since Hermione was a good bit better than Padma, it was mostly Hermione correcting Padma on things. They didn’t do it when the group was there, Harry had noticed; probably trying to avoid being rude. 

Draco Malfoy had never extended such courtesies. He would insult Harry in French sometimes (only if Hermione wasn’t around, of course) and whenever he got frustrated, he would start swearing in French, spitting them out like it was going out of fashion.

“And you?” Uncle Vernon asked. 

“What?” 

“Where will you be?” Uncle Vernon asked, his tone suggesting he thought Harry rather stupid. 

“I’ll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I’m not there,” Harry said; they’d already ran through this plan before. 

“Exactly,” said Uncle Vernon nastily. “I will lead them into the lounge…” He and the other Dursleys continued chattering on about their dinner party plans cheerily.

Sometimes, when Malfoy would start muttering stuff in French under his breath angrily, Harry would be tempted to do the same thing, but in Parseltongue. He’d even asked Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk for some Parseltongue insults to direct towards Malfoy (Harry’s favorite was, “If only you were clean enough to devour, you foul mouse of a human”. He’d fantasized about spitting that into Malfoy’s face and seeing how he reacted many a time. 

He never did, though. He had gotten into the habit of being discreet about it at Number Four, Privet Drive, and at Hogwarts too, since as far as he knew, only he and the Patils spoke Parseltongue, he figured exposing another way he was different wasn’t the best idea. Besides, speaking Parseltongue had always made Neville and Ron nervous. He didn’t want to scare his friends. Plus, their fear suggested the magical world as a whole wasn’t really comfortable with Parselmouths. 

“And you?” said Uncle Vernon viciously to Harry. 

“I’ll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I’m not there,” Harry said dully.

Now that Harry thought about it, it was rather odd that Hermione had never tried to any Parseltongue experiments or research. Maybe, seeing Neville and Ron’s nervousness, she’d decided not to poke at things… or maybe, because Harry had begun to keep things discreet pretty quickly, she hadn’t even thought of trying to learn more. 

She hadn’t even experimented more with his speaking to dragons abilities, although he knew that Harry knew she had wanted to. That could have just been because in all the hubbub of figuring out how to smuggle Ahhrhhk out she had forgotten… but Hermione tended not to forget things she got super interested in that easily. 

It seemed like Hermione had more subtlety than Harry had realized. 

“And you, boy?” 

“I’ll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I’m not there,” he said. These thoughts of his friends were making him feel even worse, and he left the table hurriedly. He wandered upstairs to his room, where he flopped out on his bed and opened up Sherlock Holmes to where he’d left off. 

“I know what day it is,” sang Dudley, forcing himself through the doorframe. He plucked Harry’s book from his hands and flicked through it, smearing bacon grease on the pages. Harry physically shuddered with horror- he’d been spending too much time with Hermione, evidently- and grabbed the book back. 

“I know what day it is,” Dudley sing-songed. “I know what day it is… it’s your birthday, loser- and you don’t have any cards… are you too much of a nerd to get friends even at that freak place?” 

“Well done,” said Harry. “So you’ve finally learned the days of the week.” 

Dudley sat down heavily on Harry’s bed, causing it to bend quite a bit. “Do people there like you?” He asked, pinching Harry’s skinny arm like Aunt Petunia often did. “Do you have friends?” He sneered. “You don’t, do you?” 

“I’ve got some cake one of my friends made me,” Harry offered, starting to get annoyed. “The muggle way. No magic in it. If you shut up, I’ll give you a slice.” 

“You sure there’s no m-ma-” 

“Not a whit,” Harry said, pulling the cake out of under his bed. “It’s really good, too. Rich and chocolate-y. Delicious. And, I’ll give you a big, fat, slice if you stop bothering me.” He waved the cake under Dudley’s nose. 

“Alright,” Dudley said, taking the kitchen knife Harry handed him and cutting himself a huge slice. 

“You have to be careful, though,” Harry warned. “If your parents see you eating it, they’ll take it away, even though it doesn’t have any magic in it.” 

“Yeah, alright.” He sat down on the floor, among his piles of old junk, and ate his cake. After a minute or so, Harry relaxed some more and grabbed his book back, returned to reading it. It almost like he and Dudley didn’t actually hate each other’s guts, although obviously that was just illusion. 

That night, Harry was given a meager dinner, which he quickly scarfed down. Sitting on the counter, was a beautiful pudding, decorated with sugared violets meticulously arranged in graceful whorls. Harry gave it a slightly jealous glance- his remaining cake looked a little lacking in comparison- but had little time to admire it, because Aunt Petunia was quickly sending him back upstairs, to keep the Masons from seeing him. 

Harry tiptoed up the stairs, avoiding that one slightly squeaky bottom step, and entered his room. He had to work hard to swallow a cry of alarm and surprise- there was a thing on his bed. 

The thing was about three feet tall and its body roughly human-shaped, although it was very skinny, and slightly bent over. It had huge green eyes which bulged out of its head rather disturbingly, and ears like that of a bat. It was dressed in a sort of pillowcase; it looked like a doll, if dolls were spawned from the twisted mind of deranged individuals. 

Harry stared in shock at the thing- the creature, for Harry could see its chest moving as it breathed. The creature slid off his bed and into a low bow. 

“Um,” Harry said. He’d never been bowed to before, not really. The Weasley Twins had bowed sarcastically to him once or twice, but this little creature actually seemed serious. 

“Mister Harry Potter, Sir!” The creature said, in a high pitched voice, carrying voice. “Such an honor it is for Dobby to meet you, sir… so long has Dobby wished to meet you!” 

“Ah… yes… um, do you think you could, uh, maybe?” He put a finger to his mouth. “I don’t mean to be rude, and I would love to talk to you, but, um, I need you to whisper, okay?” 

“Yes, Mister Harry Potter, Sir!” The creature said, in a whisper still a little loud for Harry’s liking, though he supposed it was the best that he would get. 

“Who are you?” Harry asked in a whisper, plopping down onto his desk chair. 

“Dobby, sir, Dobby the house elf.” 

“Well, um, Dobby, this isn’t the greatest time right now. If you like, you can come again later some other time, and we can talk then, but, uh, is there something you need to talk to me about in particular?” 

“Yes, sir, oh yes,” Dobby said in his earnest whisper, “It is difficult, Dobby does not know where to begin… Dobby has come to tell you… oh, Dobby does not know how to say this…” 

“How about,” Harry whispered, “you just take a stab at it, and I’ll ask questions from there.” He was hoping he could get this over with as quickly as possible; he really wanted some more cake, and then to go to sleep. 

“Oh, Dobby does not know what Mister Harry Potter Sir means by that, Dobby is so very sorry… what does Mister Harry Potter Sir want Dobby to stab?” 

Harry swallowed a sigh, and then said as politely as he could, “How about if you sit down, and just start from anywhere, I’ll ask questions as we go?” 

“Sit down!” Dobby said, and burst into tears- tears that were rather too noisy for Harry’s liking. “As though- Dobby is an equal!” Harry thought he could hear the conversation below tapering off. 

“Please, Dobby,” Harry whispered urgently, “You’ve got to be quiet. It’s very important that you don’t make too much noise.” 

“Dobby is very sorry, Dobby will be more quiet,” Dobby whispered back, sitting down and wiping his huge eyes on the corner of his grubby pillowcase. “Dobby is very good at being quiet, Dobby is always being quiet around his wizard family.” 

“Wizard family?” 

“Dobby is a house elf, sir- bound to a wizard family, to serve and protect, forever and ever…” Dobby gave a shudder. “Dobby will have to punish himself very much for coming here… he will have to shut his ears in the oven... Dobby’s family is not thinking very well of Harry Potter, sir, not very well at all…” 

“Punish yourself?” Harry whispered in horror. “Why the hell would…” 

“Yes, Mister Harry Potter, sir… Dobby must punish himself whenever he does his duties badly, or does not obey orders from a wizard… or speaks badly of his family… Dobby is always having to punish himself for something…” 

“That’s sick,” Harry hissed. “Why don’t you get out of there? Escape?” 

“Dobby may not, Mister Harry Potter, Sir… he must be set free, and his family will never set Dobby free, no, never… Dobby must serve until he dies…” 

“Wait…” Harry said slowly, “why don’t you just pretend to punish yourself?” 

“Dobby may not, Dobby must punish himself…” 

“Why?” Harry asked. 

Dobby shook his head quickly. “Dobby may not speak of it, Dobby may not speak of it, Dobby is very sorry, Mister Harry Potter, sir…” 

“I command you, as a wizard,” Harry said slowly, “that you may not punish yourself anymore…” 

Dobby began to cry again, hiccoughing. 

“Quiet, remember?” Harry whispered desperately, and Dobby quickly composed himself. Once he had, Harry asked, a little proudly, “does that work?” 

“Dobby is sad to say it does not… the family’s orders are to punish Dobby, and Dobby must obey above all… but Dobby is so very grateful… Harry Potter tries to help Dobby…” he cushioned his head on his skinny arms and devolved into silent sobs. 

“Oh…” Harry gave Dobby a few awkward pats. “Um… I’m sorry it didn’t work…” This caused Dobby to sob even harder, so Harry at last just sat back and let Dobby recover himself. 

“So… what was it you wanted to tell me?” 

“Harry is valiant and bold, he has already faced so many dangers and survived… but there is a plot, a plot at Hogwarts… Dobby must protect Harry Potter, even if he must punish himself later, for Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts,” Dobby said urgently, looking right at Harry with his huge eyes. 

“W-what,” Harry stuttered. “I have to- I have to go back. You don’t… you don’t get it, I can’t say here... I… I belong at Hogwarts, I need to back to Hogwarts…” 

“Harry Potter must stay where he is safe,” Dobby squeaked firmly. “He is too great to lose… if he goes to Hogwarts, Harry Potter will be in mortal danger.” 

“But…” Harry shook his head. “It’s far better there. I get a proper bed, and loads of delicious food, and friends.” 

“Friends who don’t even write to Harry Potter?” Dobby said. 

“Why you little…” Harry hissed. “Letters. Now.” He held out his hand. “That’s an order, and you damn well better give them back now.” 

“Mister Harry Potter must not be angry, it was for Harry Potter’s own good, sir… There is a plot, a plot at Hogwarts…” Dobby said, pulling a stack of letters out of thin air and reluctantly handing them to Harry. Harry grabbed them gratefully, feeling unbelievably relieved. He had friends! His friends still cared about him! 

“Please, Mister Harry Potter, sir…” Dobby was saying, pulling anxiously on his ears. 

“I-” Harry looked at Dobby and saw what was going on. “Don’t punish yourself,” He said gently. “But please leave. This is a bad time for me. Come back later, maybe in a week or two, whenever you have time. But not right now.” 

“Mister Harry Potter, sir…” Dobby said slowly. 

“Not right now,” Harry said firmly. “I’m sorry, but this is not a good time.” 

Finally, Dobby nodded, and disappeared without even a puff of smoke. 

Harry let out a sigh of relief, feeling the tension leaking out of him, and laid down on his bed, to begin reading his letters. 

Hermione was quite enjoying her visit to France, Harry saw. She’d written a lot about the various places they’d visited and sights they’d seen, and although her writing was full to the brim with historical context that didn’t much appeal to Harry, just seeing her cramped, neat handwriting and rambling long sentences filled Harry with a mixture of relief and an odd sense of nostalgia. 

He sniffed and rubbed at his eyes as he moved onto the other letters. In addition from the many letters from Hermione, Padma and Parvati had written him a few letters, and Ron had written a good deal as well. Even Neville had sent him a letter; and the real surprise for Harry was a cordial letter from Blaise, formally asking him about how his summer was going, and wishing him a happy birthday and excellent year. 

The more recent letters from Harry’s friends were quite frantic, talking about how they had talked to each other, and they were worried about him. One of Ron’s letters reported that if Harry didn’t respond by August 7th, Ron was going to come find him and make sure he was alright, which left Harry grinning. To think he’d believed his friends had forgotten about him! He would have to make sure he had a note ready when a friend’s owl next showed up, so that his friends didn’t get even more worried. 

His friends had even sent him some small birthday presents- from Hermione, there was a small book called “All About Alchemy”. The Patils had sent him a box of sweets, which were unlike anything Harry had ever eaten before, but very good all the same. Ron had given him a slightly worn used book all about Quidditch and flying, and Neville had sent him some Bertie Bott’s Beans. 

Harry settled down to spend a lovely long while reading all about Quidditch, feeling like things had went quite well. He had kept Dudley appeased, allowed Uncle Vernon to close the deal so that now they would be able to get a lovely vacation home in Majorca, dealt with the Dobby situation so well he’d even gotten his hands on the letters… this summer was going better than he thought it would. Maybe, Harry thought to himself, he would leave this summer no worse for wear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry forgot to knock on wood.
> 
> I may start updating more often- maybe on Wednesdays too or something?- because now that school is super close to being out, I'll have more time to burn. 
> 
> The Parseltongue insult is based on the Shakespearean insult, "Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon!"
> 
> I'm not very happy with this chapter, but I've polished it up as much as I can, and I'm already more than half into the next chapter, which I think will be good.


	3. bluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things fall apart.
> 
> Trigger warning for physical abuse, hyperventilation and fear, brief suicidal ideation and death threats. If reading about any of these things would be a bad idea for you, please skip this chapter; I'll write a brief explanation in the summary of the next chapter.

“I want more cake,” Dudley whined. “If you don’t give me cake, I’ll beat you up really… really badly,” he added with an ugly smile, unable to think of a good, threatening metaphor. 

With a sigh, Harry put aside his book, and pulled the cake out. There wasn’t much left, and Dudley took all that remained; Harry watched in some disappointment as Dudley inhaled the cake and left the room, licking his frosting-covered fingers. He had kind of hoped that Dudley would have left him alone today, having gorged himself on pudding from the fancy dinner yesterday, but apparently Dudley had an endless desire for more sweets. 

The cake only bought Harry about a minute more of quiet time reading, because Harry suddenly heard Aunt Petunia let out an ear-piercing shriek. “V-VERNON! Dudley- he’s been poisoned! That boy- he poisoned our Dudley!” 

“You take him to the hospital- I’ll deal with the boy.” There was an undertone in Uncle Vernon’s voice that was darker than anything Harry had ever heard, darker even than some of the homicidal insinuations in Snape’s tone when he was particularly angry. 

Harry could feel his breath speeding up and growing shallower as he started to panic. He went and locked the door, his hands were shaking slightly. His face was growing hot, his thoughts fracturing. Block door? He thought frantically through his haze of panic. Hide? Bed? Too small. Weapon? Wand! He began pawing around under the bed. Footsteps. Uncle, coming, soon. With great relief, he felt his hand curling around his wand. 

He pointed it at the door, fingers shaking. Uncle Vernon rushed in. His face was purple and red with rage. He went straight for Harry without seeing the wand. Harry’s head cracked against the wall. He whimpered in pain. 

“How dare you,” Uncle Vernon hissed. “How dare you try to poison Dudley…” He leaned even closer. His eyes were small and beady with rage. He said, “You harm Dudley or any of this family again, and I’ll kill you. You try to kill Dudley, and I’ll flay you alive as slowly as I can.” 

Harry shuddered in terror, shaking uncontrollably where he was painfully pressed up against the wall. He was starting to hyperventilate, his mind filled with blankness, static. 

Uncle Vernon drew a fat fist back and swung at Harry. Harry tried to duck away, made a small movement with his wand as if to try to defend himself with it, but then the fist was slamming into his face and oh _shit_ that had hurt, oh shit oh shit that hurt… Harry was crying now, sniffling like the pansy he was, curling up as small as he could, trying to flinch away. 

_Ouuuuch-_ that was a hit to the nose, hard, blood was seeping down Harry’s face. 

Kicks, punches, hits to his ribs and back… Harry’s mind was lost, blank except for when the white hot pain hit him. 

Harry was lifted by his shirt, and dropped him onto the hard floor, jostling his now aching body. Harry quickly scrambled, looking for his wand. He glanced at Uncle Vernon, and saw that the wand was held between Uncle Vernon’s hands. 

“Looking for this?” Uncle Vernon said, just before he broke Harry’s wand in half. Harry flinched at the sound, and he scrambled back away. That was… his wand. His link to the wizarding world… his only weapon… his… his wand. 

“What? Already missing your freak stick?” Uncle Vernon taunted, breaking the two halves, so that Harry’s wand was in rough quarters; it was a mess of splinters and bent shards of the broken phoenix feather, sparking slightly in Uncle Vernon’s large, fat hand. 

Uncle Vernon laughed, and there was the edge of something unhinged in the sound that made chills run up and down Harry’s spine. With the hand not holding the remains of Harry’s wand, he grabbed Harry’s shirt again and dragged him down the stairs, bumping Harry’s maltreated body against the sharp corners of the stairs. He put the bits of feather and wood into the fireplace, and, struck a match. 

The wand burnt much more slowly than it should have, and a smell of salt and cinnamon filled the air. Uncle Vernon didn’t seem to notice, too busy laughing. Harry tried to swallow his tears, but he was crying again, weeping quietly as he watched his wand burn. 

Dudley returned home from the hospital that afternoon- Aunt Petunia had taken much reassuring to be convinced her darling Dudley was alright. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were currently advising Dudley to rest up and take care of him, which basically meant doing even less than usual, and get fussed over by Aunt Petunia quite a bit. 

Harry was locked in his room after his wand was burned, the door only unlocked when Aunt Petunia entered, wearing thick oven mitts on her hands. 

She carefully searched the room, checking in every nook and cranny, wearing the oven mitts all the while- because she was afraid of touching something magical, Harry knew. Harry watched in cringing silence as Aunt Petunia discovered his stash of food- a good deal of it obviously magical- and then his textbooks, and his parchment and quill pens and other writing things. 

“How dare you,” she hissed, white with rage. “How dare you trespass on our- on our home, to bring in this filth?” She reached over and gave Harry a savagely sharp pinch. “Is this stolen?” she indicated one of the Mars bars. “How dare you… how absolutely dare you… trying to do who knows what to our Dudley darling, and now this… you’re very lucky we don’t just kick you out on the streets to rot…” 

Harry could only watch as Aunt Petunia gingerly placed many of his beloved magical posessions into a huge black trash bag. Once they were all inside, she carefully slid off her oven mitts, revealing plastic gloves on underneath, and tied the garbage bag very tightly, before putting the original plastic bag into another plastic bag. She then carried the garbage bag off to dispose of, making sure to lock the door from the outside on her way out, so that Harry couldn’t leave. 

At least Harry’s stolen muggle clothing and Lord of the Rings books were untouched, as they were hidden within plain sight, and weren’t obviously contraband. Also, Aunt Petunia hadn’t turned out the pockets of Harry’s clothing in his drawers, and thus, hadn’t found Harry’s Invisibility Cloak, which was a real stroke of luck. 

And, there was always the stuff safely locked in Harry’s trunk. Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk was safe, too. Things could be far, far worse. And yet… despite these optomistic thoughts, Harry couldn’t quell the painfully knotted lump turning slowly in his stomach. 

This lump got especially bad when Uncle Vernon announced that the following day, Harry’s window would be fitted with prison bars. Sure enough, the next morning there was a rather confused handyman, working to install bars onto Harry’s window. Uncle Vernon himself installed the cat-flap, which would be used to shove food in, much like they had used the grate, back when Harry was kept in the cupboard. 

As things had usually went when he was in big trouble before Hogwarts, Harry was given some scraps or a half-can or so of soup three times a day, and let Harry out to use the bathroom morning and evening, with every other hour of the day spent locked in his bedroom. 

Harry told himself very firmly that it wasn’t too bad. He reminded himself that he had went ten days like this, back before Hogwarts, and three of those had been only with water, and no food at all. 

Harry spent most of his time reading and worrying- worrying about Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk, worrying about whatever it was that was making Dobby the house elf so worried about him, thinking about how he would have to, on August 7th, escape the bedroom and gather his things, so that the Weasleys wouldn’t suspect a thing when they picked him up. 

When Harry went to the bathroom each day, he got a good look at himself in the mirror, and he had a nasty looking shiner from Uncle Vernon, which he also worried about covering up, or making excuses for. Maybe wizards were so used to using magic that they never punched people, only hexed them, and would have no idea what Harry’s shiner was from? 

Another thing that happened was the Dursleys quite quickly began to pay less attention to Harry and his well being. Three meagre meals a day dwindled to two even more frugal meals; twice out for the bathroom dwindled to only once a day. 

On the fifth day, Dobby came back again. 

“Has Mister Harry Potter made a decision?” Dobby squeaked cheerfully. 

“Urghhhh,” Harry grumbled, rolling over and sitting up; he had been napping, trying to conserve his rapidly draining energy. “Uh. No I haven’t. If you would, um, just get me my trunk from the cupboard under the stairs, I’ll be much more open to your advice.” 

Dobby’s eyes narrowed. “The trunk which contains the magical things Mister Harry Potter uses for school at Hogwarts? Dobby thinks not.” 

“Yup, I’ve made a decision,” Harry groaned, rolling over and trying to get comfy so he get to sleep again, “I’m going. Some damn way.” 

When Harry woke up, Dobby was gone. 

On the afternoon of the sixth day, Harry began trying to open up the door of his room, knowing he would need to get out and grab his trunk before the Dursleys came to pick him up. 

His Invisibility Cloak, muggle clothing, and Lord of the Rings books all tucked into his bookbag, he sat in front of his locked door, his stance like a meditating priest- but he was meditating on his desire for a way out, his longing for change, and not on peace. 

It didn’t work. Harry tried and tried and wouldn’t work. As he got more and more stressed, more and more angry at himself and the Dursleys and the world for dealing him this foul hand of cards, he didn’t notice that the door was getting hot, sparking a little. 

He didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary until suddenly the door exploded right off of its hinges. Harry slowly stood, staring at the burning shards and splinters of what had previously been his door. 

So there went his element of surprise. Harry stood next to his work, figuring the Dursleys would come running in fear, and he could threaten them into giving up the trunk. 

Uncle Vernon came to Harry, but his face didn’t show a jot of fear; it was covered in smugness, and an underlying rage that made Harry shiver in his trainers. He was clutching a piece of parchment in one blubbery flipper-hand. 

“Look of this, boy,” He said, handing the thing to Harry with a smug smirk. “Go on- read it!” 

Dear Mr. Potter,

We have received intelligence that a Blasting Charm was  
used at your place of residence this evening at forty nine min-  
utes past five.

As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to per-  
form spells outside school, and further spellwork on your  
part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the  
Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Para-  
graph C).

We would also ask you to remember that any magical  
activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical  
community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13  
of the International Confederation of Warlocks’ Statute of  
Secrecy.

Enjoy your holidays!

Yours sincerely,  
Mafalda Hopkirk  
(there was a flourishing signature)  
IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE  
Ministry of Magic

“That’s right… You’re never going back to that school… never… and if  
you try and magic yourself out— they’ll expel you!” Uncle Vernon said. “And none of this trying to run away, either- I’ll beat you within an inch of your life for each time you violate our hospitality.” He glanced around at the still-smoldering bits of door, an evil gleam in his eyes. “Starting with some… punishment… for blowing up our door.” 

“Fuck that,” Harry spat- just as surprised as Uncle Vernon was hearing the bold wars coming from his mouth. 

“What did you say?” Uncle Vernon hissed menacingly, words enunciated in a way that reminded Harry of Snape’s way of talking- except obviously far less skillful than Snape’s elegant, venomous speech. 

“I said,” Harry deadpanned, running on adrenaline and maybe a bit of a death wish at this point, “fuck that. In fact, now that I’m thinking it through- fuck you too!” 

“You’re going to die,” Uncle Vernon hissed, eyes even beadier and smaller than usual as he squinted in rage. 

“Sure. Someday. But not today,” Harry said. “Because if you make me angry, I’ll do what I did to the door, to you- but ten times worse.” 

Uncle Vernon faltered slightly. “You wouldn’t do that,” he said, sounding a little bit uncertain. 

“Oh really?” Harry spat. “Are you willing to bet your life on it?” 

“If you do any more… m...m… of that creepy shit, they’ll expel you from your freak school,” Uncle Vernon spat. “You wouldn’t dare do anything, I know it.” 

“Do I look,” Harry sneered, channeling Malfoy at his most proud, most bratty, “like I give a single fuck about that at this point?” 

Uncle Vernon swallowed slightly, and took a single step back. 

“I asked,” Harry said, enunciating like Snape, “do I look like I give a fuck about things like that now?” His hands, fisted at his side, were sparking slightly. 

“Um…” Uncle Vernon took a few rapid steps back.

“Answer me,” Harry hissed. 

“No, you don’t,” Uncle Vernon said, and turned and waddled off as quickly as he could. 

“Key!” Harry shouted, and Uncle Vernon lobbed the key to the cupboard over his shoulder, speeding up as he did so. 

Harry forcibly swallowed the bile that had gathered in his mouth. His hands were shaking uncontrollably, the sparks burning him whenever they touched flesh. He picked the key up from the floor and walked over to the cupboard. Unlocking it, he dragged the trunk out- impulsively grabbing the old letter and tucking it into his bookbag as he did so- and started to carry it out to the front yard. 

He set the trunk down on the front drive, and then, pocketing the key to the cupboard, heading to the back yard. 

“SSSLSHCHHSHKH’LSH’HHK!” Harry hollered. “COME ON, WE’RE GETTING OUT OF HERE!” 

It took a few calls, but soon Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk was there, curled up loosely around Harry’s neck like an odd sort of scarf. Harry sat on his trunk, waiting for the Weasleys. 

As it got darker and colder, the adrenaline quickly began to drain out of his body, replaced by stress. That had been so dangerous… his mind was replaying Uncle Vernon’s words about killing him, beating him within an inch of his life. He knew that was what was waiting for him if the Weasleys didn’t show up, if he had to slink back to number four, privet drive, with his tail between his legs. 

He would be beaten until there was no fight left in him, and he would have to survive four weeks on what food they were giving him to be able to get rescued on September 1st- and that was even assuming the people at Hogwarts would even think to check on him when he didn’t show up. Harry was already light headed and weak from a week without much food, and he knew that the food supplies would only continue to dwindle; he wouldn’t be surprised if, if he ended up having to stay at the Dursleys, he literally starved to death. 

Harry wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t take that long, slow, painful way out, Harry decided sleepily. If the Weasleys didn’t show up, he would… run away and… jump off a bridge, or something. Take the nice, short, painless way out, instead of starving till the point of death, or near death.

Harry was consumed in his dark thoughts, too busy poking the ground with the tips of his trainers to really keep proper watch of what was going on, so he jumped when he heard Ron call, “HEY! HARRY!” 

“Wh-what?” Harry stammered, dragged into full wakefullness. “R-Ron?” He looked up, and his mouth fell open as the full impact of what he was seeing hit him. 

Hanging in midair was an vintage-y looking turquoise car, with the twins in the front seats, and Ron hanging out the back window. 

“All right, Harry?” asked George, his brow furrowing in what looked oddly like worry. 

“Yeah?” Harry said in confusion. “I’m fine, why do you- oh.” He touched his eye, feeling how tender it still was. “Yeah, it’s no big deal. Just me being a klutz.” He laughed, but it sounded awkward and strained even to his own ears. 

“What’s been going on?” Ron broke in. “I’ve asked you to come over about twelve times…” 

“I’ll explain on the way,” Harry said. “I wasn’t getting my letters, it’s a long story… C’mon, can you guys help me get my trunk up in there?” 

Fred lowered so it was just hovering above the ground by a few inches, and then Ron helped situate the trunk in the back seat, before Harry stepped up and inside himself. 

“God, I’m glad to leave that dump behind,” Harry said- he had meant to mutter it under his breath, but it came out too loud, and he winced a little as all three of the Weasleys’ eyes shot to him. He accidentally made contact with Fred in the rear view mirror, and he could see that same little furrow of worry on Fred’s brow that there had been on George’s. 

“So — what’s the story, Harry?” said Ron impatiently. “What’s been happening? Why haven’t you been answering my letters?” 

Harry explained all about Dobby, even embellishing it so that implied that the reason that Harry was in trouble was because of Dobby, not for the utterly stupid reason of having given his cousin a piece of cake. 

Harry saw Fred and George exchange a look as Harry explained about Dobby not being able to explain what exactly the plot was. 

“You think he was lying?” Harry asked.

“I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you coming back to Hogwarts. Someone’s idea of a joke. Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?” Fred asked.

“Malfoy,” Ron and Harry said in unison. 

“Draco Malfoy?” said George, turning around. “Lucius Malfoy’s son? I’ve heard Dad talking about him; he was a big supporter of You-Know-Who.”

“And when You-Know-Who disappeared,” said Fred, “Lucius Malfoy came back saying he’d never meant any of it, that he’d been under the Imperius and stuff. Bullshit— Dad reckons he was right in You-Know-Who’s inner circle.”

“Malfoy’s rich, he’s bound to have a house elf or ten,” Ron said thoughtfully. 

“Yeah, that’s probably it,” Harry agreed, feeling a little foolish for giving Dobby’s rambling as much weight as he had. 

“I’m glad we came to get you, anyway,” said Ron, and began talking about his owl, and how it was so old and unreliable. The Weasleys carried the conversation; during a story about Mr. Weasley having to deal with a magical teapot gone berserk; the words began to sound vague and far away, and soon Harry was asleep, dozing with his head flopped forward against his chest. 

“Is he asleep?” Fred asked, glancing back at Harry.

“I think so,” Ron said, poking Harry gently. “Yeah, he’s fast asleep.” 

They were quiet for a few minutes, and then George said, “Would you look at that shiner, it's like he got hit by a troll.” 

“Did you spot those bars on the upstairs window?” Fred asked. “I’d bet anything that’s his room…” 

“Still too small to be healthy,” George added. 

“He’s got little bruises all up his arm, I saw when he lifted the trunk,” Ron agreed, shooting his sleeping friend a slightly worried glance. To get the twins to help him, he’d talked about how shady Harry’s home life was. He’d mentioned about the shitty non-present Harry had gotten from his family, reminded them of how Harry was always dressed in ragged hand-me-downs. He’d talked about how Harry often flinched when Hermione went in for a hug, how praise or compliments seemed foreign to him. He knew that Harry didn't like talking about stuff like that, and that if Harry found out he'd told, Harry would be hurt, but Ron was really worried about his friend.

“He’s safe now, though,” George said. 

“We can’t let him go back,” Fred said, an edge of determination in his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've tried throughout this series to keep the Dursley's treatment of Harry canonical, as one of my biggest pet peeves is when fanfiction writers make it seem like the Dursleys are abusing Harry in a severe, physical way; I think it implies that other forms of abuse, like the emotional abuse the Dursleys consistently inflict on Harry, or their constant neglect, don't really matter enough that intervention is necessary. However, I think that Uncle Vernon's actions are in character with the Dursleys' abuse, as at least some physical abuse is implied in various parts of the series, and in canon, Aunt Petunia tries to hit Harry over the head with a frying pan when she thinks he threatened Dudley with magic.
> 
> Ron didn't really put two and two together until the summer, when he was wondering why Harry wasn't replying. That was when he remembered what Harry said about probably being grounded, and then he started thinking about Harry's home life, and getting more and more worried for Harry. 
> 
> As for Harry's rather dramatic exit- Slytherin!Harry's good at scheming and thinking things through, but he's definitely still got that reckless streak from canon... it just only shows when there's no way to scheme his way out of things.


	4. avante garde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Settling into the Burrow is a little bumpy.

The stars hung above like pinpricks through the thick black velvet of the sky; by the light of the moonlight, George could see the dark patchwork of fields and clumps of trees. They lowered slowly, and landed with a few small bumps; when George glanced back, Harry was starting to wake up, blinking and rolling his head to one side. His snake’s head was slithering out of from his shirt. It was the oddest thing, George reflected; he had never considered that snakes could be cute before he met Harry and his snake companion. 

Harry got his first look at the Weasleys’ place. There was a big yard, with a large, long sort of pond, and a huge, old tree that looked absolutely fantastic for climbing, and had several swings of different types hanging from it. There was also a sort of shed or garage. 

As for the actual house... it looked a little, he thought, like someone had taken several different houses, and stacked them on top of each other. 

At the bottom, was the first “house” as Harry thought of it; a simple single story affair out of cobblestone, with a flat pyramid as a sort of pointy roof. It had big rectangular windows, and the eaves were hung with loads of wind chimes, and shiny bits of metal, and muggle Christmas lights. 

“The sprites like to play music on them,” George explained, seeing Harry looking at them. 

The second “house” was stacked on the far side of the first “house”. It was whitewashed, small and rather squarish looking, with a pointed roof and several windows. 

A third “house” was held up by several support beams, so that it was a level higher than the second “house”. On the space under the third “house” there was, Harry saw, a rather old looking armchair, nailed to the roof, and a whole bunch of wind chimes. 

There were seven “houses” in total, or eight depending on how you counted “houses”; Harry’s favorite was the one third to the top, which had a balcony overlooking the entire thing, and several large, round windows. 

Harry managed to stop his awed gaping and follow the others to the front door, which was painted a gorgeous pale sky blue. 

“Now, we’ll go upstairs really quietly so as not to wake anyone,” said Fred, “and wait for Mum to call us for breakfast. Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs going, ‘Mum, look who turned up in the night!’ and she’ll be all pleased to see Harry and no one need ever know we flew the car.”

George opened the door slowly, and the group slowly sneaked inside, Ron going first- and stopping abruptly, his face gone pale. 

There in the small, cramped kitchen, sitting on a beautifully carved chair next to the fire engine red stove, was Mrs. Weasley. For a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was remarkable how much she looked like a saber-toothed tiger.

“Ah,” said Fred softly in the voice of a man with many, many regrets. 

“Oh, dear,” George agreed sadly. 

Mrs. Weasley took a long, judgmental slurp of her tea, staring them down as she did so. Her wand was sticking out of the pocket of her colorful, embroidered dressing gown. 

“So,” she said once she had had several more similarly judgmental sips of tea. 

“Ah- good morning, Mum,” Fred said in what he was clearly hoping was a cheerful voice. 

“I think it’s still technically night,” George said quietly from beside him. 

“Have you any idea how worried I’ve been?” said Mrs. Weasley in a deadly whisper, slowly setting down her tea. 

“Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to—”

All three of Mrs. Weasley’s sons were taller than she was, but they cowered as her rage broke over them. Harry cowered too, sure she was going to beat them all- but she didn’t, only began lecturing very loudly. 

Mrs. Weasley had very impressive lung capacity, Harry thought dazedly as he listened to her rant and rave for what seemed like hours. She had shouted herself hoarse before she turned to Harry, who took a few quick steps away. 

“I’m very pleased to see you, Harry, dear,” she said. “I I would imagine you’re quite tired, considering-” she raised her voice a little, “-that you just went on a dangerous and illegal trip-” she gave her sons a look which made them all flinch a little, “so how about Ron helps you settle in? I think that the twins’ old room would be a good spot.” 

“The twins’ old room?” Harry asked Ron quietly as he followed him up the tightly winding, circular staircase. 

“Yup,” Ron said. “The twins pounced on Charlie’s room when he moved out- that’s the room third from the top- and left this old room behind.” He opened the door, revealing a smallish room, with a single little window, a large bookcase with more boxes and random bits and bobs than books in it up against one wall, a large but somewhat musty-smelling bed, and walls papered with lots of Weird Sisters posters. 

“They’re very firmly stuck,” Ron explained. “I doubt they’ll ever come off.” He shoved Harry’s trunk under the bed. “That scorch mark right there is from the time they tried to create a potion that would make people have red and gold hair,” he said casually.

“Um,” Harry said. 

Harry settled himself nervously on the edge of one of the seats, slowly turning his head so as to get a better look at things. 

“It’s a bit small,” said Ron quickly. “Not like that room you had with the Muggles… smells kind of scorched too…” 

But Harry, grinning widely, said, “This is the best house I’ve ever been in.”

Ron’s ears went pink. “Um. Sleep well,” he said, and left.

Harry went to sleep easily and at once. Waking of his own accord, and not due to Aunt Petunia, was lovely; waking somewhere other than his stuffy, locked room, was absolutely fantastic. At first it almost felt too good to be true, in fact. 

Harry got dressed again, and wandered down the stairs to the dining room. Mrs. Weasley was already working away at breakfast. 

Mrs. Weasley was making a special breakfast, as she didn’t know what kind of food Harry liked, and wanted him to have plenty of options to enjoy. He was far too skinny, and she planned to make sure he got fatter under her watch. She was making a proper fry up; one knife was chopping up the tomatoes, the toast was in the toaster, the orange was juicing itself and she was cracking eggs into a pan. 

Harry felt a jolt of guilt; he should have woken up earlier to help. To make up for it, he quickly set to work, taking the sausages from the counter and putting them into the pan. 

Mrs. Weasley blinked in surprise when she saw young Harry appear at her elbow. “You don’t need to help,” She protested. 

Harry glanced up in confusion. Was this a test? “I um… I like cooking,” he said slowly. 

“Ah,” Mrs. Weasley said. “Well, if you want to help…” she shrugged. “The stove is turned on by snapping your fingers.” 

They worked in companionable silence, Mrs. Weasley cooking the eggs while Harry cooked up the sausages, and then Mrs. Weasley setting the table while Harry poured the orange juice. 

“Morning!” Fred and George said in cheerful unison, sliding into their seats. 

“Would you look at that-” Fred started. 

“He’s already buttering up Mum!” George said. 

“He’s learnt from the best,” Fred say with an eyebrow wiggle. 

“Don’t know what you two were thinking of, taking the car,” Mrs. Weasley muttered, serving sausages onto the twins’ plates. “Do sit down, Harry dear.” 

Harry awkwardly slid onto a chair, balancing precariously on the edge of his seat. He took the opportunity to get a better look around. 

The table was covered with a colorful tablecloth. The legs were carved to look like lion’s claws, and one of the chairs at the table was also beautifully carved; it had a big dragonfly carved into the back. The clock on the wall opposite him had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edge were things like “time to make some tea”, “time to feed the chickens”, and “you’re late”. Books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, books with titles like Charm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in Baking, and One Minute Feasts — It’s Magic! The ceiling as painted sky blue, and had big fluffy white clouds painted onto it as well. 

“I don’t blame you, dear,” Mrs. Weasley was saying now, as she tipped eight or nine sausages onto his plate. “Arthur and I have been worried about you, too. Just last night we were saying we’d come and get you ourselves if you hadn’t written back to Ron by Friday… but really, flying an illegal car to do it?” She looked like she might be edging towards getting back in ranting mode, so Fred quickly broke in, saying, “It was cloudy, Mum!”

“You keep your mouth closed while you’re eating!” Mrs. Weasley snapped.

“He needed rescuing!” George protested. Harry sunk down in his chair as Mrs. Weasley’s gaze skittered over his shiner. 

“And you!” said Mrs. Weasley, but it was with a slightly softened expression that she began shoving fried eggs onto Harry’s plate. 

At that moment, a small ginger-haired girl in a long nightdress appeared in the kitchen, squeaked in fear and surprise, and ran out again.

“Ginny,” said Ron in an undertone to Harry. “My sister. She’s been talking about you all summer.”

The group finished their breakfast, at which point Mrs. Weasley ordered Fred, Ron and George to go degnome the garden. Harry gamely followed the Weasleys out to the yard. There were loads of weeds, and the grass was long and scruffy. In addition to the big old climbing tree which was hung with homemade swings of all types- tire swings and swings with ropes of all shades and hammocks too- there were tons of other trees, too, including a gnarled apple tree.

The flowerbeds were filled with plants Harry had never seen, including something that looked kind of like what would happen if a rosebush and a porcupine procreated together, what looked like a miniature tree if trees were made up of living, growing stone, and what appeared to be a flower with long fur/hair. 

Degnoming the garden was hard work, but fun all the same. They talked as they worked- the twins were big fans of complaining about Percy, it turned out. 

Fred was just starting a new story about something silly Percy had done when he was younger when they heard the front door slam.

“He’s back!” said George. “Dad’s home!”

They hurried back into the house; Mr. Weasley was slumped in one of the chairs at the table, his glasses off and eyes closed as he rubbed at his nose. “What a night,” he mumbled, shrugging off his dusty green outer robe, which, Harry thought, looked like a combination of a cloak and a long coat of the type fashionable in the eighteenth century. “Nine raids. Nine!”

Mr. Weasley filled his cup up to the brim with tea, and took a grateful gulp. 

“Find anything, Dad?” Fred asked eagerly. 

“All I got were a few shrinking door keys and a biting kettle,” Mr. Weasley said around a yawn. “There was some drama outside of my department, though… Harry Potter got a warning for underage sorcery, apparently… a Blasting Charm… some people were suggesting Aurors be sent in, to see that it wasn’t a matter of self defense, and was only good fun… Mostly overzealous Aurors wanting to meet their hero,” he added, eyes still closed. 

Harry was getting really sick of having the Weasley brothers send him those little looks that they thought were subtle or something. He was a Slytherin. Maybe not a Blaise-tier Slytherin, but he could feel their little “covert” glances, and it was getting annoying. 

“Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?” said George at long last. “Doesn’t seem like a very good prank to me.” 

“Just Muggle-baiting,” sighed Mr. Weasley. “You wouldn’t believe the stuff some of us enchant nowadays." 

“LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?” Mrs. Weasley had appeared. She was holding a long, sharp poker out like it was a lance, and she was about to have a jousting match with her husband. 

Mr. Weasley’s eyes jerked open, and he stared guiltily at his wife. “C-cars, Molly, dear?”

“Yes, Arthur, cars,” said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes flashing. “Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while really he was enchanting it to make it fly.”

Mr. Weasley took a fortifying gulp of tea, and then awkwardly began, “Ah, well, dear, you would find that he would actually be within the bounds of the law to do that, although… er… he would have done better to, ah, tell his wife the entire truth of the matter… you’ll find there’s a loophole in the law, which states, as… as long as he isn’t intending to fly the car, the fact that the car has the capacity for fly doesn’t really-” 

“Arthur Weasley, there’s a loophole in the law because you wrote it in!” shouted Mrs. Weasley. “And for your information, Harry arrived this morning in the car you weren’t intending to fly!”

“Harry?” said Mr. Weasley blankly. “Harry who?”

He looked around, saw Harry, and jumped a little in his seat.

“Good lord, is it Harry Potter? Very pleased to meet you, Ron’s told us so much about you… I suppose since you grew up with Muggles, you would know, what is the fun-” 

“Your sons flew that car to Harry’s house and back last night!” shouted Mrs. Weasley. “What have you got to say about that, eh?”

“Did you really?” said Mr. Weasley eagerly. “Did it go all right? I — I mean, of course, that — that was very wrong, boys — very wrong indeed. . . .” He turned to Mrs. Weasley. “I’m sorry, dear, I should have told you…” 

Mrs. Weasley sniffed. “Too right, you are... we'll be talking about this more later,” but she set down a full plate of food before her husband, and began topping off his tea.

“Now, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said eagerly. “What is the function of a rubber duck?” 

“You, um, you put in a bathtub,” Harry said slowly, nervously. “It… floats.” 

“Does it?” Mr. Weasley said in surprise. “And… what do you do with it, once it is floating?” 

“It’s just a toy,” Harry explained. “Babies play with them when they’re bathing… it’s like, you know, a distraction so that they don’t make too much of a fuss.” 

“Ingenious,” Mr. Weasley muttered, digging into his fried eggs. “It’s incredible, how muggles get along without magic…” 

“Necessity is the mother of invention,” Harry quoted, then blushed at blurting his thoughts out like that. 

“Is it?” Mr. Weasley said with a little chuckle. “Never heard that one before…” 

“I doubt you would have, it’s a muggle saying,” Harry said. “Hermione gave this whole lecture on how necessity is so important for invention once, to Ron.” 

“I remember,” Ron said with a groan. “She once said- you wouldn’t believe it, she said that muggles are actually more advanced than wizards?” 

Mr. Weasley made a small noise, like a verbal shrug. “Possible, but I doubt it. What do you think, Harry?”

“I… I don’t know,” Harry said slowly. “Maybe.” He looked down, trying to avoid the question. He thought that it was actually a pretty accurate assessment, but he was sure that would offend Mr. Weasley if he said so, and he didn’t want to risk it. 

Still tired and weak-feeling from his ordeal, Harry went to bed early that night. 

That night found three of the Weasley brothers sitting in the Twins’ room, around the largest scorch mark, which was a flamboyant purple, in the center of their little circle. 

“I… I already feel bad enough having told you guys,” Ron said, fiddling with his sleeve. “Harry’s so private, and… I know you guys don’t mean any harm or anything, but he’s just so private about it, and he probably doesn’t even want me to know, so…” 

“We could ask him,” George suggested. 

“Merlin, it’s weird being the one arguing for telling the adults,” Fred said, “but…” 

“...Mum could help him out in a way we can’t, you know?” George said. “If he wants to like…” 

“Sue them or try to get them punished for it… or get his guardianship given to someone else…” Fred continued, “then he needs to talk to adults about it.” 

“I really doubt he would be okay with talking about it,” Ron said awkwardly. “He… I don’t know, I think that we should ask him about it. We owe him that much. It’s… it’s his business and we really should ask before saying anything to anyone else.” 

The Twins nodded. 

Harry’s second time waking up at the Burrow was just as good as the first. He lingered in bed for a few delicious minutes, before rolling out of bed and getting dressed. He helped Mrs. Weasley cook up breakfast and then settled down with the Weasleys to eat. 

Percy ate while half asleep and with some of the fantastically awful bed head Harry had ever seen- second only to Harry’s own, although not by very much. The Twins had great fun trying to poke and prod him into conversation, which he responded to with sleepy grumbles, with yawns interjected every so often. 

Ginny maintained a tomato like complexion throughout the meal, but when Harry accidentally made eye contact with her, she turned absolutely fire engine red and dropped her glass of milk. 

Mr. Weasley, having had the function of rubber ducks explained to him, was now attempting to understand how electricity was contained within wires. Harry was getting more and more confused and feeling more and more stupid as he realized how little he himself understood it. 

After breakfast, Harry headed outside to the garden where he talked with Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk. Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk was settling in pretty well to the garden, although the chickens, for some strange reason, scared the living daylights out of her. 

“Everyone knowsss we don’t get along with thossse disssturbing creaturesss,” she hissed. “With their feet-fangsss and grosssss feathersss and… ugh.” She shuddered a little. 

“But you love eating chicken eggsss,” Harry said, scratching her under her chin. 

“Yesss,” Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk agknowledged. “But that’sss partiallly to make sssure that a-” she shuddered again, “-chicken doesn’t hatch from it. It’sss bessst to kill them young.” Her tongue slipped out, tasting the air as she considered, and then she admitted, “and chicken eggsss are deliciousss, that’sss part of it... “ 

“Hey Harry,” Fred said, abruptly appearing out of nowhere and plopping down to sit next to Harry. He was wearing his normal smile, but it looked… a little bit forced to Harry, and he glanced nervously at Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk. Had Fred heard him talking to her? Was he afraid of Parselmouths?

“He smellsss of burnt magic and worry,” Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk pronounced. “Not worry for himssself… worry for you… His nessstmatesss are behind you…” 

Harry glanced over his shoulder and, sure enough, George and Ron were leaving the house and heading towards his bench as well. 

“Um… what’s up, guys?” Harry asked nervously. 

“We were wondering,” George said, joining Fred and Harry on the bench, “where you got that shiner?” His voice was falsely casual. 

Harry froze dead still. He could feel his blood draining from his face. His heart pounded quickly in his chest and when he glanced down at his hands, he could see them shaking. He tucked them under his legs, and then, realizing he’d been quiet for too long, said, “I- uh- it’s kind of embarrassing…” 

“What? You walk into a pole?” Fred said with a grin, but it was all wrong. 

“Trip over your feet?” George joked rather feebley.. 

“I… um…” Harry glanced between the Weasleys, knowing he would need a good lie. Finally he sighed and dove in, figuring hesitating too long would make him even more suspicious. “I stole my cousin’s favorite toy, and he got so mad, he punched me.” He gently ran his fingers over the still tender area. 

“Really?” Fred asked. “Cause it looks like you got hit pretty hard…” 

“Um,” Harry said. They weren’t even bothering with subtlety now, were they. “He’s a boxer. Really strong, you know. And he loves his computer.” 

“Computer?” George mumbled. 

Harry was about to jump into an explanation, hoping to distract them, but Ron cut in, saying, “It doesn’t really matter what toy it was, right guys?” 

“You know,” George said slowly, “I couldn’t help but notice that there were bars on one of the windows…” 

“It’s a common aspect of Muggle home decor,” Harry said, well aware of how ridiculous he sounded. “It’s… it’s the newest thing this season. The horizontal lines… um… it’s very avante garde.” He started giggling at the expression on their faces, and in his nervous state the giggles became hysterical laughter. He laughed silently, his body convulsing, tears pricking at his eyes. 

“Are you… okay?” Ron said, poking Harry’s shoulder gently. 

“Fantastic,” Harry said around another bout of hysterical laughter. It was just like he had said. Harry was fucking fantastic, thank you very much. He didn’t need some sort of… intervention… or whatever it was that they were trying to do. 

At last Harry had settled down and stopped laughing like he had gone mad. He wiped his eyes with hands that were still shaking. 

“Harry,” Ron said slowly. “Um, Harry… you know you can talk to us, right?” 

“Harry,” Fred said, his face uncharacteristically serious, “if you want to… to take legal action against them, you have to admit they were… mistreating you.” 

“Who? Who’s mistreating me?” Harry said, his expression beginning to harden. 

“Your family,” Ron said in frustration. “Don’t you want help?” 

“I don’t need help,” Harry said coldly. “And I’d appreciate if you stay out of my business.” He stood and started towards the Burrow. He was a few steps away when he hesitated, then turned quickly and said, his voice shaking a little, “Y-you guys aren’t going to say anything to anyone? Right?” 

“Don’t worry, we won’t,” Ron said softly, an expression of what might have been pity on his face. 

Harry turned and fled into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, Harry... 
> 
> I'm not really happy with this chapter... but I can't think of how to make it better. Tbh this chapter was kind of painful to write. I spent too much of the time I should have been writing thinking up who would play Tom Riddle in a movie version of shrewd slytherin (Andy Biersack/Andy Black/Andy whatever last name he chooses to use now) and titles for even more parts of the tcf series. 
> 
> All snakes hate chickens. All of them, but one type especially... 
> 
> The dragonfly chair is of course Ginny's, created by Bill as a gift when she was younger.


	5. things you learn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry goes shopping. Initially it was just for school supplies but now he wants to buy a Harry Potter impersonator to act as a decoy...

Over the next few days Harry was stiff and nervous around Ron and the Twins, some part of him always thinking they were going to abruptly bring up the Dursleys’… not great… treatment of him, try to embarrass him further or something. 

Once, out of nowhere, Ron asked, “Would you like to stay here next summer, too? And… all of the summers?” 

“Yes,” Harry said after a long moment, quietly.

“Okay,” Ron said with a small, slightly rumpled looking smile. 

Unknown to Harry, but that night after Harry was fast asleep, Ron went to his parents, a determined look on his face. 

“Harry,” he said very firmly, “is going to stay with us now.” He didn’t make it a question, because he didn’t want them to answer no. “He’s going to stay holidays, and summers, and whenever he wants.” 

“Al… Alright, dear…” Mrs. Weasley said slowly, setting down her cup of tea. “Is there… is there something wrong?” 

“Uh-” Ron crumbled slightly. Keeping this secret was hard, but Harry had asked him to- so- he just bypassed the question, saying instead, as firmly as he could manage, “It doesn’t matter, and, um, you really, really shouldn’t ask him… or… spread rumors… ” He trailed off, feeling guilty at having revealed so much by accident. Then, he said with more conviction, “What matters is, he’s going to stay with us now!” He stared both of them down, daring him to deny it.

“O-of course, darling,” Mrs. Weasley soothed. “Don’t worry, dear…” 

Unknown to anyone except her husband, Mrs. Weasley barely slept that night, worrying over Harry, wondering what could have happened to cause him to use a Blasting Charm… to worry her son so much… Her pillow grew wet with tears. 

Arthur, lying next to her, tried to soothe her, but he was crying, too, wondering if Harry would be without that shiner if the Ministry had sent in Aurors after all… wondering what exactly they would have found, if they had. 

Harry didn’t know any of this. He didn’t know that for all intents and purposes, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley knew his secret just as much as Ron and the Twins did. And if he _had_ known… he wouldn’t exactly be happy about it.

Harry knew that Ron and the Twins just wanted to help… but when they’d begun talking about his home life, he’d been filled with black shame. He would rather curl and die than seem weak to his friends, especially the Weasleys, who had done so much for him. And anyway… it wasn’t like they could _really_ help… and telling himself so would just make everything hurt more later on. 

As it became clear than the Weasley brothers really weren’t going to pressure him about it, Harry slowly began relax again and grow more casual with his friends. He borrowed one of their spare brooms, and the four of them- Percy refused to leave his books behind, and when offered the prospect of playing with Harry, Ginny had gone bright red and quickly shook her head- tossed around apples. 

Harry got used to flying pretty quickly, and discovered that he was rather a natural at it. The Twins were impressed at how good he was, and began challenging him, racing him and daring him to go faster, make sharper turns. 

The best challenge was when Fred, a devilish grin on his face, suggested that Harry try to catch a large, spherical rock Fred had found from midair. Harry agreed, unsure as if he could do it, but not wanting to disappoint his friends. 

Fred pulled his arm back and then hurled the rock a little harder than he had intended to- the rock was lighter than he had thought. 

Harry, his eyes on the arc of the rock, was already moving. He pointed his handle down, gathering speed in a steep dive. His heart was pounding but his hands were firm on the handle. Just a few more feet now- if he didn’t gain enough speed, he was going to hit the ground- Harry leaned flat against the broom, and gained just the bit of speed necessary. His hand closed around the rock and he pulled his broom straight in the bare knick of time. 

Panting, heart pounding, but with a huge, brilliant grin lighting up his face, Harry fell gracelessly on the grace. 

“You alright?” Ron asked a little worriedly, panting from having ran over. 

“I caught it,” Harry said, still grinning. 

Ron’s eyes widened. “Really? We thought you’d crashed for sure- FRED! GEORGE! HE CAUGHT IT!” 

The Twins hoisted Harry up onto their shoulders, cheering as they carried him off. Harry’s cheeks hurt from how hard he was grinning. 

“And then he dived! Almost straight down, it looked like- must have been fifty feet, I’m telling you,” Ron bragged cheerfully around a mouthful of chicken. “I’m telling you, he’d make a fantastic seeker!” 

“Not for Slytherin, I hope,” Fred said. “Is it too late for you to be ReSorted? We’d love to have you on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, I’ll tell you that… the Seeker this year sucks.” 

“This entire thing sounds very dangerous to me,” Percy said with a pompous sniff. 

“Oh, don’t be such a prat,” George groaned. 

“You think everything fun is dangerous,” Fred agreed, shaking his head solemnly.

“Or maybe,” Percy suggested primly, “you two think everything dangerous is fun.” Pursing his lips, he cut his asparagus spears rather judgmentally. 

Harry couldn’t help but laugh into the back of his hand, wiping his expression clean when Fred gave him a mock-offended expression. 

That afternoon, when it was too hot even for flying, Harry was flopped out on the floor of the Twins’ new room. The Weird Sisters’ newest album- which had just been released a week or two ago- was blasting loudly enough that Harry was sure Percy was going to burst in and demand they lower the noise sooner or later. 

They were also playing a game of Exploding Snap. Fred had lost one of his eyebrows already. Harry’s fingers were painfully burnt, but he refused to complain, not wanting to be a wet blanket. 

Ron would challenge anyone who would listen to chess, but only Mr. Weasley and Percy would even consider playing him. Watching Ron play, Harry was always impressed; Ron seemed to plan six or seven moves ahead, while the best that Harry could ever get was three or four moves planned ahead. 

Harry couldn’t help but remember the gigantic chess set from the third floor corridor; there would have been no way he could have gotten through on his own. In some sense, Harry supposed, he could be considered to be lucky- lucky that Quirr- Vold- _he_ had gotten Harry through the gauntlet. 

Harry had tried to keep the events of his first year as distant as possible, but sometimes when it got too quiet, Harry could only think of _him_ , screaming as he burned alive. In the darkest hours of the nights Harry couldn’t sleep, Harry wondered again and again- was it murder? Was what had happened murder? Was Harry a… a… 

Harry tuned back into the Weird Sisters music playing. The Dursleys, he thought, would hate it not just because of how sometimes they mentioned wands and Hogwarts houses and house elves, but because it was nothing like the bland, elevator music type stuff they favored. 

The Weird Sisters, especially their newest album, Dementors Among the Rose Bushes, had an almost… discordant sound. There was the clash of drums and the lead singer’s voice had a harsh edge to it. It was chaotic and loud; there always seemed to be at least three interesting things going on, musically. Harry loved it, though. He’d liked the album he’d gotten back at Ravenclaw Debate Night, but this one was even better. 

Once, frustrated with only tossing an apple around, the Twins invited a neighbor named Cedric Diggory to play as well. 

Cedric Diggory was… intimidatingly perfect. He was tall and strong with a fantastic facial structure. He had shining white teeth and fluffy brown hair that Harry couldn’t help but be envious of. And he was a prodigy flyer- so fast and nimble, able to stop on a dime, perform the tightest of turns, and even fly upside down with hardly any trouble at all. 

Harry flew markedly worse, both from nervousness and lack of practice or real training, and he found himself blushing in embarrassment under the other’s gaze, knowing he must look like a real idiot. Harry was glad when Diggory left, glad that he wouldn’t be able to embarrass himself any further. 

About a week or two after Harry had arrived at the Burrow, he and the Weasleys went to Diagon Alley to go shopping for school supplies. They met the Grangers at Gringotts, where Harry was embarrassed to realize that he had much more money in his vault as the Weasleys had. 

He felt even more guilty when he realized they were probably spending loads of what little money on him- paying for the food he ate and all. He felt gross, like he was some sort of bum, intruding on their hospitality. He should pay them back, he thought- whether with money, or by doing more chores, or not eating all of the food Mrs. Weasley kept filling his plate up with- there should be something he should be doing to pay them back for all their kindnesses.

After exiting Gringotts, they all split up, going off in their own directions. Harry bought the three of them custom ice creams from Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor. Harry, happily devouring his vanilla-and-raspberry ice cream covered in chocolate sauce and chocolate chips, concluded that ice cream was even better than he had thought it would be. Even Dursley would be jealous of this ice cream cone. 

They wandered around, window shopping for the most part. Hermione looked longingly at an early edition of Hogwarts: A History in the window of one high-end bookshop… it was from circa 1200 B.C. and cost such a load of galleons that they wouldn’t even put a price tag on it. 

They had quite a time dragging Ron away from the newest broom model, the gorgeous looking Nimbus 2001, which was- Ron said- now officially THE fastest racing broom in the world. They were outfitted handsomely with ebony handles and silver accents; the twigs smoothly, elegantly streamlined. Harry lingered a little while over that one as well, admiring the beautiful broom. 

“You should really try out for the Quidditch team… The Slytherin Quidditch Team, I guess,” Ron said. Despite his encouraging words, he did look a little bit conflicted at the thought of his friend flying for Slytherin. “I mean… I wish you could try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team,” He said with a laugh. “But… you should really try out. You’re a fantastic flyer- a real natural. And you’ll be a much cleaner player than the people they have on the team now… the Slytherin players now are all real pieces of work.” 

“Maybe I will,” Harry said a little shyly. “It’s worth a try, right?” 

“I’ll come out and support you if you do,” Hermione promised. “Even though I don’t know very much about Quidditch at all. Now, can we please move on?” 

Reluctantly, the two boys left the Nimbus 2001 behind. “If you are going to try out, we need to start getting you all prepped up now,” Ron was saying, beginning to get excited. “I imagine the Slytherin Quidditch team is very competitive… you’ll need to know all about the different plays, the different strategies… you understand the basics, right? About all the different balls?” 

“I think I do,” Harry said slowly, and began to run through the basics of the game with Ron. 

“Sounds about right,” Ron said with a satisfied nod. “I think your best bet would be going for Seeker… the old Slytherin Seeker, from last year, was a Seventh Year, so the spot’ll be open to tryouts this year. The Twins can help you practice, I’ll bet- throw more things for you to catch, and stuff. And we can figure something out to help you learn to dodge Bludgers… maybe we can get Dad to set up some wards and we can use actual Bludgers for once… play a proper game.” 

“What if I don’t make the Seeker position?” Harry asked a little nervously. He didn’t want to disappoint his friend. 

“I’m pretty sure you will, if you practice enough,” Ron said confidently. “But just in case, we can train you up for Chaser, too… Slytherin will be having a Chaser opening, too. You’d make a better Seeker, but you’d make a fantastic Chaser, too.” 

The next half hour or so, Harry and Ron chattered excitedly about Quidditch, while Hermione did the actual shopping. It was only when they were about to go into Flourish and Blotts that Harry remembered he had forgotten to buy his new wand. 

“Oh- can you guys buy my books for me? I’ll-” he shoved some coins into their hands. “Here, you buy them for me, I completely forgot, I need a new wand!” 

Harry hurried off to Ollivander’s, bursting into the tiny, dusty room. The spindly little chair was still there, as were the rows and rows of shelves, all piled with loads of thin rectangular boxes containing wands. “Mr. Ollivander?” he called out, as softly as he could while still making his voice carried. 

“Good afternoon,” Mr. Ollivander said in his soft, thoughtful voice, then actually caught sight of Harry and did a double take. “I did not expect you to see you here again so soon, Mr. Potter,” he said with a note of confusion in his voice. “Are you perhaps buying a wand sheath? I have a wonderful selection of sheaths… they are exceptionally popular among aspiring duelists, you know.” 

“I- uh- I need a new wand.” Mr. Ollivander went abruptly pale. “I- uh- I can just get another, right?” Harry said anxiously. “People can get new wands, right? It’s not- one wand for life, is it?” 

“Yes, yes, of course you may get another wand,” Mr. Ollivander said hurriedly, though still looking pale. “It is merely… I expected such a wand to last you much longer… I had hoped it would last you longer.” He looked worried, though he was obviously trying his best to conceal it. “Be more careful with this wand, won’t you?” He said, with a note of reproach in his voice. 

“It wasn’t my fault,” Harry said quietly, but Mr. Ollivander wasn’t listening. 

“Let’s see… you’ve hardly grown at all since I last saw you, but even the tiniest of changes can make a difference,” Mr. Ollivander said, setting the tape measure to measuring with a flick of his wrist. “Still right handed, are you?”

“Um- yes,” Harry said. Could wizards change that? Go from right handed to left handed, or the other way around? 

Mr. Ollivander began to pull boxes down from the shelves. The tape measure closed with a snap and fell to the ground at Harry’s feet, and Mr. Ollivander pushed the first wand into Harry’s hands, saying, “Rowan and dragon heartstring, ten inches, reasonably bendy… give it a wave, why don’t you?” 

Harry had barely waved it when Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand, saying, “no, no… not right at all… here, try this one, aspen and unicorn hair, eleven inches, a bit less supple than the last…” But Mr. Ollivander wasn’t happy with that one either, snatching it out of his hands just as quickly as the last. 

“No, no… this isn’t even close. Let me think.. Let me think… let me think… Fir! Try this one- fir and dragon heartstring, rather less supple than any of the others, eleven and a half inches…” 

Harry gave it a wave, and Mr. Ollivander took it back, saying, “Closer… close, but not there yet… try this one, pine and phoenix feather, eleven and a quarter inches, stiffer and slimmer than your first wand…” 

Harry gave it a wave and felt that same wonderful rush of warmth through his arm… a sharp salty scent filled the air, like the smell of the occean, and blue and white sparks came spurting out. 

“Fantastic!” Mr. Ollivander cried. “Very good… very good indeed…” He carefully repackaged Harry’s new wand, and just a few moments later, Harry was outside, his pocket seven Galleons lighter, but with the precious box in hand. 

Harry wiggled through the crowd outside Flourish and Blotts, glad for once to be so small. Inside, the line wound tightly through the store, so that it was cramped with people- mostly witches, he noticed. 

After a little looking, Harry managed to spot the Weasleys and Grangers- they were about halfway through the line, which wasn’t moving at all. He sneaked through the hordes people, and then slipped into place with his friends. 

“What’s with the long line?” He asked. 

Mrs. Weasley let out a squeal. “Oh Merlin- you scared me, Harry! Try not to sneak up like that.” 

“It’s Gilderoy Lockhart,” explained an irritable and bored looking Fred. “He’s signing books.”

“I bet it’s taking so long because all the witches are flirting with him,” George said with a groan.

“Yeah, you didn’t miss much,” Ron agreed with a frown. “How did buying your new wand go?” 

“It- it went well,” Harry said. “Didn’t take as long as last time. Ollivander seemed mad that I’d lost the old one- wasn’t even my fault, honestly.” 

Shit. Harry shouldn’t have said anything at all- now the Twins were exchanging those stupid worried looks again. 

“Oh, look! The line’s finally moving!” Harry said, trying to distract them. 

Sure enough, the line was beginning to move. An excited whisper was rippling through the room as well- _”Gilderoy Lockhart just arrived!”_

“Do you mean to say,” Fred began angrily- 

“-that he only just arrived _now_?” George finished. “What have been wasting all this time in line for, then?” 

“Oh, we’ll be seeing him in just a few minutes now,” Mrs. Weasley said breathlessly, straightening the skirts of her robe. Fred rolled his eyes- luckily for him, Mrs. Weasley was too busy peering ahead anxiously in the line to see it. 

Sure enough, after not much longer, they caught sight of the man himself. He was handsome in the way superheros in comics books are handsome, with a face like that of a Ken doll. He also seemed, to Harry at least, to be exceptionally arrogant- he was surrounded by pictures of his own face, and had a very loud, plastic-y sounding laugh. 

“Is that- it can’t be!” He shouted out suddenly, leaping dramatically to his feet. “It is! Harry Potter!” 

Harry’s eyes went very wide, and he looked around frantically, as though hoping that Gilderoy Lockhart had spotted another famous Harry Potter to harass instead of him. The treacherous crowd parted, allowing Lockhart to grab Harry’s arm and yank him forcefully to the front. Face burning at everyone’s eyes on hand, Harry stared frantically at the Weasleys, pleading for them to rescue him. 

As the cameraman clicked his camera frantically, filling the air with deep purple smoke, the Weasley Twins pushed their way through to the crowd, and stood protectively on either side of Harry. When Gilderoy Lockhart tried to grab Harry’s shoulder to pull him in close to him, George stomped ferociously on Lockhart’s foot, all while smiling cheerfully for the camera. 

Swallowing his cry of pain, Lockhart tried to grab Harry’s hand, but Fred slapped it away, his smile just as big and photogenic as George’s was. 

Finally, Lockhart gave up. Instead, he pompously announced that he would be serving as this year’s DADA teacher, and gifted each of the Twins, as well as Harry, with his full, signed works, for free. 

Harry, stumbling due to the wobbling stack of books in his arms, hurried back to where the rest of the Weasleys were. He unceremoniously dropped his books into Ginny’s new cauldron, saying, “I’ll buy my own, you have these.” 

The already odd and stressful day only got weirder when Lucius Malfoy, who was usually so aloof, got into a fight- an actual _fight_ , like some sort of common muggle!- with Arthur Weasley. Hagrid dragged the two of them apart, Lucius Malfoy with his neat, elegant braid actually looking scruffy for once, Arthur with the lense of one of his glasses cracked. Harry was glad to leave; he wasn’t sure he would be able to look at Flourish and Blotts the same way, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are very worried for Harry, but because of what Ron said, they aren't (at the moment) going to try to talk to him about it. 
> 
> Mr. Ollivander knows a helluva lot more than people tend to give him credit for... 
> 
> This chapter was... kind of interesting to write. There's a couple of... little things... which I put in in the context of things that will come up later in tcf. One of them is like, ridiculously subtle, so it's mostly there for me. I might bring it up like four books later as ~proof that I am a semi competent writer who thinks things through~ *throws confetti*
> 
> in other news... Panic! put out a new album, i made a resolution to watch all of the Marvel movies over this summer... and it was really hard figuring out the title for this chapter, idk why :/


	6. crush, crash, concuss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry chooses the wrong course of action.

Summer vacation was coming to an end, and as glad as Harry was to be heading back to Hogwarts- living at the Burrow had been amazing. Like nothing Harry had ever experienced. He wanted to come back- to have an entire summer like this, no Dursleys involved- but he didn’t believe that it would happen, and he kind of wanted to just… stay. Stubbornly cling on, hanging on to the sunshine-y month of feeling like he… like he was _loved_ and… and _cared_ about. 

Hogwarts, with Professor Snape to mock him during class, with Harry’s strained, distant relationship with his roommates- with Draco Malfoy just a few beds away from him- was… it wasn’t as safe as the Burrow, that’s for sure. And after the events of last year… Harry knew he was going to be paranoid and anxious, jumping at every noise, twitching at every even slightly suspicious thing someone did. 

Still. It would be good to see his friends again. Harry hadn’t seen Neville or the Patil twins all summer, only exchanged letters, and his time with Hermione had been pretty brief. He wanted to hear the happiness in Neville’s voice as he retold his story about learning his Gran trusted him to do work in the most dangerous greenhouse, now. He wanted to see the quiet smile on Padma’s face as she settled into a good book. He wanted to hear Parvati tell him about her newest art project. 

And plus… Harry had spent the past two weeks learning about Quidditch maneuvers, making sure he knew strategy, drilling the rules of the game into his head, practicing, practicing, practicing. 

“I can’t believe we’re really training up a Seeker for _Slytherin_ ,” Fred had sighed, but the twins had developed a complicated training schedule and sacrificed all the time they usually would have spent blowing things up or figuring out new pranks, working to make Harry the best Seeker he could be. 

“A natural with no training might not make it on- but someone with as much natural talent as you, and four weeks of comprehensive Weasley training… you’ll crush the competition! Slytherin’d have to be mad to turn you down,” George said, as they rested on the grass.

“Just a quick reminder that if they do, Gryffindor has an opening,” Fred added. 

“We’ll just disguise you,” George added. “Dye your hair-” 

"-red, obviously-" 

“-rename you Harold Potts-” 

“And bam! The perfect new Gryffindor seeker!” 

Harry was excited- he was trying to tell himself not to get too confident, because then he would be more disappointed when he failed- but he was still excited. He would never admit it, but- the way the Twins thought his spot was basically assured, the way he’d already improved so much in such a short period of time- well… Harry dared to daydream of wearing the green Slytherin Quidditch robes… to imagine Blaise and Tracey cheering for him, maybe even a grudging congratulations from Malfoy if he could just play well enough. 

The day Harry was set to head back to Hogwarts began bright and early. They had- theoretically- already packed everything up, but people kept on realizing they’d forgotten toothbrushes, socks, their favorite quill. They ate toast hurriedly while they searched, collided on the stairs, yanked on one shoe and then hopped around looking for where the other one had gotten off to. 

Harry really did have everything packed- all he had to do was put everything he’d unpacked back in, and make sure that Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk was comfortably settled into her terrarium- so he helped Ron stuff the last of his things into his trunk, then helped Mr. Weasley carry all the luggage out to the car. 

As Harry shoved Percy’s trunk to the very back of the boot, he couldn’t help but notice how much space there was; much more than there should have been. He glanced at Mr. Weasley, who grinned a little guiltily. “Not a word to Molly,” He whispered.

Mr. Weasley had only just started the car when George was dashing out, shouting that he’d forgotten his box of fireworks; and they only just passed the gate when Fred was pulling on the door, saying he’d left his broom. 

They were late, but only a little bit so, and when they turned onto the highway and saw they were still before rush hour, they all relaxed a bit; that is, until Ginny suddenly shrieked at the very top of her lungs, “I’VE FORGOTTEN MY DIARY!” 

It was the loudest Harry had ever heard her; she looked absolutely frantic. “Turn around the car! I’ll be quick, I swear-” 

“Ginny, dear, we’re late already,” Mrs. Weasley tried to soothe her. 

“Mum and Dad can send it to you in the mail,” Fred pointed out. 

But Ginny wasn’t swayed. “We need to go back,” she insisted. “We’ve got to go back.” She made eye contact with Harry in the rearview mirror and blushed furiously, but continued on. She evidently was not willing to board the train without her diary. 

The car turned around, its inhabitants in a state of tense silence; Ron was grumbling quietly, Percy looked very anxious about how late they were running, and the Twins looked like they were planning how best to make Ginny regret this. Harry was starting to feel anxious too; what would happen if they weren’t on the train when it left? He would still get to go to Hogwarts, right? Surely they wouldn’t… just… figure he didn’t want to go, right? 

They reached the Burrow again. Ginny sprinted out, Fred calling rather spitefully after her that if she didn’t show up in three minutes, they were heading on to King’s Cross without her. She reappeared thirty seconds later, her handsome black leather journal clutched in her hand; she slid into the bench-like passenger seat, next to Mrs. Weasley, and they were off. 

The ride passed mostly in tense silence; every so often someone would nervously eye the car clock, or send an annoyed look at Ginny. Harry saw Arthur’s fingers twitching towards the little extra buttons on the wheel, but Mrs. Weasley said, very firmly, “No, Arthur-” and no amount of cajoling, pleading and bargaining from Fred, George, Ron and Mr. Weasley would change her mind. 

They arrived at the station at twenty past eleven; Mr. Weasley dashed off for some trolleys, and they bustled into the station, all twitching, nervous glances at the clock and whispers to hurry, hurry up already!

They had to waste a few precious minutes as there was a muggle lingering too near the entrance; by the time she was gone, they only had five minutes to slip through without anyone noticing. Percy went through; then Fred and George, then Mr. Weasley, then Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, until there was just Ron and Harry, with only a minute and a half to get through. 

“Come on, we’ve gotta go now- we’ll have to go together,” Ron said. Harry made sure Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk’s terrarium wasn’t in any danger of falling off or bouncing around too much, and they set off at a sprint- they were careening at the barrier, too fast to stop now, Harry closed his eyes- CRASH!

Harry’s breath was coming a little quicker and shallower than it should- they were all staring- Ron’s face was white as a sheet- some guard was shouting at them- 

“Lost control of the trolley,” Harry managed, not quite making eye contact with the red-faced and angry guard. 

The guard returned to his post with only a little bit more lecturing; Harry, all too aware of the dozen or so muggles still looking at them, pulled his trolley away from the barrier, hissing at Ron through the side of his mouth, “what’s going on?” 

“I dunno,” Ron whispered back to Harry. “It worked fine for everyone else- I know we did it right-” he glanced at the clock and he went even paler. “The train already left,” he choked out. “We’ve- we’ve been left behind.” 

They were silent for several moments, unable to really accept what had just happened. 

“It’s- it’s really gone,” Ron said after a few more minutes. “It’s- it’s really left us behind. What if Mum and Dad can’t come back through? How are we gonna…” 

After some more discussion, Harry retrieved his meager savings of muggle money from his trunk- only fifteen pounds, not enough to buy fare for both of them, even if one of the trains from here went anywhere near Hogwarts. 

At last Harry bought them both each a bottle of water- all of their covert, furious whispering, had dried their throats out- and they were sitting by their trolleys, sipping their waters, when it hit Ron. “The car!” He hissed. “We can take the car- the clause for emergencies- we won’t get in trouble, we’ve got to get to school somehow, right? We’d better hurry, though-” 

Harry and Ron hurried back to the car and shoved their trunks into the boot; Ron slid into the front seat, running his fingers over the various buttons with something like reverence. Harry let Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk out of her terrarium; she slid up to curl on his collarbones. Once they were sure no one was watching, they set off. 

Once they’d risen a few feet, Ron tapped the small silver button that turned the car invisible. It was as though the Invisibility Cloak had been spread over the entire car, and everything within it. Below them there was only the gorgeous, postcard brilliant sky, and the ground below, looking like some sort of idyllic painting. 

After some struggle, they managed to locate the Hogwarts train ahead; but when Ron leaned on the pedal, accelerating quickly in order to catch up- the car flickered in and out of view in a split second, but when Ron let up a bit, it quickly settled back into invisibility, and Ron didn’t seem very worried, so Harry tried not to be worried either. 

It was a fantastic way to travel- at least, once Harry had gotten Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk to stop panicking and screaming in Parseltongue about how they were all about to die. It felt like a dream world; the sky was bluer than blue, the sun a brilliant white-hot hole in the sky. Hot beams of sunlight skipped across the fluffy white clouds; they alternated flying through the cloud mist of clouds, and feeling the sunlight dancing across their skin. 

They chewed on toffees they had found in the glove box. Ron had also managed to have the foresight to grab the bacon sandwiches Mrs. Weasley had made for them to eat for lunch from his trunk. 

After they ate lunch, it started to be a bit less fun. It was getting really hot; Ron and Harry had already shed their jumpers. The bottles of water Harry had bought were already mostly gone; but there were still beautiful cloud shapes to look at, and the rushing wind blowing by, making Harry feel like a bird flying high above. 

As Harry began to get sick of just watching the scenery go by, a nasty thought was occurring to him- even though the car was invisible… even with what Ron had said… Snape was not going to like this. He was not going to like this in the least… he was sure to have some very sharp, cutting words for Harry… probably loads of detention… Harry had heard that the only thing keeping Snape from giving him detention for the rest of his life after the whole fiasco at the end of last year was Dumbledore… and Harry didn’t know if Dumbledore would bother, this time… 

The clouds were bathed in the glow of evening sunlight when things _really_ went south. The engine began making a low whining noise, which Ron hastily excused; but he couldn’t ignore when the car abruptly went visible again. Ron frantically pressed the silver Invisibility button over and over again, and at last it returned to invisibility.

They only made it about fifteen minutes before the invisibility was gone again; and no matter how much Ron toggled the button, it wouldn’t come back. 

Worse yet, the car was starting to slow down, the whine way too loud now. They weren’t over the Hogwarts Express anymore; it was leaving them behind as the car inched along painfully, dipping and waving like a drunk bird. 

They went about twenty minutes like that, helplessly watching as the Hogwarts Express left them behind, when the engine began sputtering, snorting little puffs of lavender smoke that smelled like rotten eggs. Ron floored the accelerator, but the car barely rose, and only lurched forward a foot or so; it looked like the car was on it’s last legs. 

“I don’t-” Ron managed, swallowing a shriek as they dropped a little, before stabilizing into their unsteady hover. “I don’t know what happened! It was working fine-” 

“We’ve got to get the car over the tracks,” Harry gasped back, “-least chance of getting impaled on a tree branch or something- lower it down slowly, so that we don’t-” 

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to do that,” Ron confessed, “but I’ll- I’ll try.” He pulled roughly on the steering wheel, trying to center the car over the tracks. The car moved ridiculously slowly, barely shifting at all; it only moved about a foot or so. 

The car gave another little drop; it was about fifteen feet this time, and for a few seconds Harry didn’t think it was going to stop; but then the hover feature managed to kick back in, and they were hovering awkwardly, roughly centered over the tracks. 

“Let’s- let’s try to go down, maybe?” Harry suggested. 

Ron dipped the car slightly downwards, and floored the accelerator; the car inched incrementally downwards and forwards at a snail’s pace. It seemed like they were almost out of the woods- like they would make it down without free falling- when suddenly the engine cut, and this time, it didn’t jump start itself back to life. 

Ron and Harry screamed as they plunged downwards- the car was nosediving- Harry realized somewhere in his panic addled brain that _neither of them were wearing seatbelts_ \- and then Harry’s head was slamming through glass- he was flying through the air- Harry went scraping across the ground, slowing down, rolling over himself… 

Harry just lay there, panting against the ground, for several minutes. Something wet and hot was dripping down his face. His heart was pounding like he’d just run a marathon. Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk was a few feet away, hissing his name repeatedly. 

“I’m fine,” Harry murmured back. “Are you alright? Any injuriesss?” 

“I am unharmed,” Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk said after a moment’s thought. “You have red on your face… ssshould I be worried?” 

“Red on my-” Harry wiped his face with the back of his hand. His hand came back bloody, and Harry winced slightly. “Yeah… that’sss not… not that big of a deal, don’t worry, Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk.” Aside from the blood on his face, and some pretty badly scraped hands and knees, he wasn’t injured. He gathered Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk in his arms, then walked forward on slightly unsteady feeling legs, calling, “Ron?” 

The car was sitting unsteadily, half-on the tracks. The windshield was mostly gone, except for a few shards clinging to the frame; the windshield wipers were flailing about quite randomly. 

Harry spotted Ron next to a tree a ways away, lying prone on the grass. Harry hurried over, and was relieved to find that Ron still had a steady pulse. He shook his friend, repeating his name over and over as he did so. 

“Mnhghh…” Ron groaned, blinking up at Harry. “Wh-wh... at happened?" He asked weakly. 

“We crashed,” Harry said. 

Ron looked super confused. “...crashed? We... we crashed?” 

“Yeah,” Harry said, starting to feel a jolt of real fear. “We were driving the car? Don’t you remember?”

“To... pick you up?” Ron said slowly. "From your... family, right?" 

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Harry asked, holding two fingers up a few feet away from Ron. 

“...Th-three?” Ron guessed, squinting blearily. “I can't really tell... 'm so tired..." 

Harry gnawed on his lip, way out of his depth. They were still a ways’ away from Hogwarts; if they were on the train, it would take another forty five minutes or so to make it. The sun was beginning to set, and Harry did not think that being here at night would be a good idea at all. 

The car may not be able to fly, but it might still be able to be driven. Harry managed to maneuver the car so that it was balanced on the tracks, and then, headed to where Ron was still lying on the ground. 

“Come on Ron,” Harry said. “Get up, we’ve gotta go.” 

“Where?” Ron mumbled. “Why do we hafta...” Harry grabbed Ron’s arm and yanked him to his feet, but Ron refused to walk, and just sagged limply in Harry’s grip. "Why are we- can't we jus' stay here?" he grumbled. 

“Come on,” Harry said again, shaking his friend. “We really have to go.” 

“Ruh- _ude_ ,” Ron said, rolling his eyes and trying to flop back to the ground. “This is a great place, mmkay? The grass is nice... soft..." he tried to lay back down on it. 

Harry half carried, half dragged Ron to the car, shoving him into the passenger’s seat, and then firmly shutting the door. 

Harry slid into the driver’s seat, glancing nervously at all the buttons and pedals and things. He didn’t know how to drive a normal, muggle car- let alone this trashed magical mess of a car. 

Harry thought back to what Aunt Petunia would do before driving off; he checked the various mirrors, catching sight of his face, pale under the blood and grime, in the rear view mirror. That done, he reached over and carefully buckled Ron’s belt, then buckled up his own. He placed his hands firmly on the wheel, and, exhaling a small prayer, put his foot down on the pedal and gives it a tiny, uncertain push. 

The car wouldn't move. Harry pushed harder, and after a moment, the car started to move slowly. Harry adjusted the wheel and continued pushing. The car was moving slower than Harry could walk, but Harry’s heart was pounding frantically in his chest as they inched along. 

After a while, Harry began to feel more confident. He went a little faster, then a little more faster even that that. He settled in; Ron snored in the passenger seat next to him The sky outside was stained a dozen gorgeous colors, then darkened slowly… the stars began to come out and Harry pressed on, blinking frantically as he tried to keep awake. 

Harry nodded off for a few minutes, and the car rolled off the track, slammed into a tree. Harry winced awake as the car rumbled in irritation, gave a little shake like it might kick them and their luggage out. 

“Shhhh,” Harry mumbled sleepily. “I… I suppose we’d better just stay here the night... “ He was dead to the world in just a few minutes. 

Harry woke up far too abruptly for comfort. The first thing he noticed was the stern face in front of him- the second thing, the arrow leveled at his throat. Harry swallowed hard, and the sharp tip gently brushed against his adam’s apple. Harry couldn’t help but let out a sleepy, scared mewling noise, and he instinctively curled into himself, moving as far back from the arrow as he could. 

“Why are you here in the Forest?” said the owner of that fierce face. 

“Wuh…” Harry was still staring at the arrow. “S-sorry… what?” 

“What are you doing in the Forest?” the man repeated. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and he had the most defined muscles Harry’s had ever seen; Harry couldn’t help but stare, a little bit. 

“Just- just passing through,” Harry said. “Um- we missed the Hogwarts Express, and so we took the car… it, um, flies… but then it crashed… we’re just trying to get to Hogwarts… I’m really, really sorry, I didn’t mean to trespass, I swear…” He glanced at the man, then quickly looked away again. 

The man still looked suspicious, but he lowered the arrow, causing Harry to sigh in relief. 

“You will remove this- car- later, but for now, you and your friend will come with me, and I will lead you to Hogwarts,” the man rumbled. 

“Thank you so much,” Harry said with a grin. He gathered Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk in his arms, and then shook Ron until Ron’s eyes flicked open. He blinked, evidently trying- rather inefficiently- to deal with the bright morning sunlight. 

“C’mon Ron, we need to get going,” Harry said. 

“Five more muh…” he yawned, “-inutes.” 

“You need to get up now,” Harry said, “we need to go.” Grumbling, Ron rolled out of the car, rubbing his eyes and not even attempting to hide how tired and irritated he was. 

The man- who turned out to be actually a centaur- lead them through the forest. Harry was still tired from the uncomfortable, light sleep he’d gotten the night before; his skin felt grimy, his mouth sticky and dry, and he was super hungry, but the forest was beautiful, with strange butterflies flittering among the branches, the occassional strange flowers, the old, strong trees stained golden brown in the early morning light. 

Once Hogwarts was in sight, the centaur left them, heading back into the depths of the forest. Harry and Ron trudged their way rather despondently around the Lake, and arrived far too quickly at the big, oak door. 

“I guess the only thing to do is knock,” Harry said nervously, casting a glance at Ron; he grunted, leaning against the wall like all he wanted was to get this entire thing over with. 

Harry tried to wipe his face with his now-grubby sleeve, but the blood was already dried to his face, and if anything he was just getting more dirt on his face. Harry groaned, and forced himself to knock on the door. 

No one answered for several minutes. Harry hadn’t expected anyone too, but he wanted to be polite, just in case. He nudged Ron, who looked like he might be dozing off again, and then pried open the door. The two of them tiptoed into the hall. 

This was going to go horribly, Harry just knew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered having Harry veto the whole taking-the-flying-car-to-Hogwarts thing, but... he's still young and pretty impulsive. Not as impulsive and reckless as in canon, but he's still not exactly the paragon of thinking everything through, especially when he's feeling panicked and stressed. 
> 
> Mr. Weasley put in safety measures so that if the car is in the air when the flying ability fails, the car shouldn't just free fall.
> 
> Writing Ron's concussion was difficult. I did research on what concussions are supposed to be like, what kind of symptoms are present, and stuff like that, but I've never been concussed, or been around someone who is, so... this is probably at least somewhat inaccurate. Sorry about that.
> 
> There's lots of interesting stuff I'll get to write soon... Snape's reaction, Harry Potter trying out for Quidditch, there'll be another Debate Night soon, and of course, there's the whole Heir of Slytherin thing...


	7. the judge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things don't go how Harry expected. 
> 
> Trigger warning for flashbacks to child abuse, and an anxiety attack.

In Harry’s perfect world, he would go wash up, go back to bed again, and not have to deal with any murderous professors. Well, in Harry’s perfect world, the whole thing with Platform Nine and Three Quarters wouldn’t have happened at all, and no one would ever hire Snape as a professor, but well, it’s not like Harry would ever get to live in a perfect world. 

Harry knew if he went and washed up and went to bed, it would look like he was trying to hide from Snape’s wrath, which was futile anyhow. Ron was still acting… weird and in a way that was a constant reminder of how hard he’d hit his head against that tree, so Harry would just… help Ron find his way to the Hospital Wing. 

The halls were- blissfully- empty. They reached the Hospital Wing all too quickly. Harry would have lingered outside except that Ron wandered in before Harry could do that. 

Madam Pompfrey appeared to be making one of the beds. When they walked in, she turned- and turned white face, utterly shocked for some incomprehensible reason. She just stared at them silently for a moment or too, before incanting some words and producing an odd, sparkly silver swan, which flew down the halls and left them far behind. 

“The professors-” She cut herself off abruptly and gestured rather aggressively for the two of them to sit. The rather cowed boys sat down meekly. 

Madam Pompfrey began gently cleaning off the bloody cuts on Harry’s face, face still contorted in maternal fury. “Injuries?” She asked, still obviously angry. 

“Scrapes on my hands and knees, and the cuts on my face, and that’s it,” Harry said. “I think Ron’s concussed, he’s acting super… weird. Dopey.” 

“The professors were all very worried about you,” she said at long last. “The Weasleys contacted Professor Dumbledore to let him know you hadn’t come through the border… but when Professor Snape arrived at Kings’ Cross, no one was there.” 

“Oh,” said Harry in a small voice. He hadn’t realized that they would send someone to go looking for him. Now that he thought about it… just waiting like a normal person was probably what a logical person would have done… what had they been _thinking _? “I- um, I didn’t think of that.” He hunched into himself a little bit.__

__“I don't think you were thinking at all,” Madam Pompfrey agreed as she bandaged the various cuts Harry had gotten from when he went sailing through the car’s windshield. “You’ll be needing to get these changed regularly. I’ll send you reminders by owl.” She moved onto Harry’s scrapes._ _

__“Wh-where’s Professor Snape?” Harry asked in an even smaller voice. “Should I- should I go find him?”_ _

__“He will be here soon enough,” Madam Pompfrey assured him, which was the opposite of what kind of thing Harry would find reassuring. “You’re free to go,” would have been more reassuring to Harry than the fact that the greasy bat of the dungeon, filled with homicidal rage, and equipped with the power of his position as Harry’s Head of House, was even now baring down on where Harry was holed up… Harry shuddered._ _

__Madam Pompfrey definitely noticed the little pained shudder running through the too-skinny, obviously nervous boy sitting in her Hospital Wing, and she frowned. She’d have to speak to Severus again. Although... it seemed like no matter how many little “talks” she and the other professors gave him, not a damn thing changed. Sometimes, Madam Pompfrey wished Albus would just fire him._ _

__Madam Pompfrey was performing some tests on Ron’s mental capacities in order to see what kind of damage he’d sustained when Harry heard the unmistakable sound of Professor Snape approaching._ _

__The door slammed open and Severus Snape dramatically swept in, long black robes hanging off him like dark shadows, looking more furious than Harry had ever seen the man._ _

__“Mr. Potter,” he hissed, and Harry shuddered again, wondering how much he would have to bribe Madam Pompfrey to kill him right now._ _

__Snape was quiet for several icy minutes and Harry realized he wanted some sort of acknowledgement from Harry. Feeling like this was the verbal equivalent of having someone very slowly remove his fingernails from their beds, Harry forced himself to make eye contact and say, “Yes, Professor?”_ _

__Professor Snape opened his mouth, and then closed it with an audible snap. He glanced at Weasley, then Madam Pompfrey, then turned back to Potter. “Follow me.” He had wanted to lecture the both of them at once, but it appeared Potter’s foolishness had actually done real damage to the Weasley boy, and so _his_ lecture would have to wait. _ _

__Harry reluctantly left the comforting warmth and light of the Hospital Wing- Madam Pompfrey was frowning but she didn’t say a word- and followed Snape through the castle, down into the dimmer, damper, colder dungeons._ _

__They entered Professor Snape’s office and Snape gestured for Harry to sit. Harry perched anxiously on the very edge of the uncomfortable chair in front of Snape’s desk. Professor Snape closed the door and Harry’s knuckles went white where they were fisted in his lap._ _

__Professor Snape walked over with all of the flare of a predator stalking its prey. Harry’s leg was bouncing up and down frantically, like it was running when the rest of Harry couldn’t._ _

__“So,” Professor Snape said in a soft, deadly voice, “The train wasn’t good enough for the _famous_ Harry Potter, was it? Wanted to arrive at Hogwarts with a _bang_ , did we?” He pulled out the newest edition of the Daily Prophet, and Harry saw with a sickening thud of his heart that the Flying Ford Angelica had made headlining news. He continued on, still in that terrifying voice, for a little while longer, and it was only when it seemed to have run out of things to say that Harry tried to defend himself. _ _

__“Sir,” Harry attempted quietly, “the barrier- it was closed. We- we couldn’t get through.”_ _

__“So you rode an _flying car_ to Hogwarts instead?” Snape hissed. “Even if I did believe your paltry excuse- the _sensible_ thing to do would have been to wait patiently, instead of endangering the Statue of Secrecy! How _dare_ you-” _ _

___how dare you__ _

__Harry shuddered. His breath wasn’t working quite right. It was too shallow- too fast-_ _

___how dare you try to poison Dudley… you harm Dudley or any of this family again, and I’ll kill you… you try to kill Dudley, and I’ll flay you alive as slowly as I can...___

____“Potter?” came Snape’s voice._ _ _ _

_____Uncle Vernon’s fat fist coming for his face, Harry unable to duck-_ _ _ _ _

____Harry was vaguely aware of Snape coming closer. He flinched- _a particularly painful hit to the nose, hot blood was seeping down his face, he could taste the metal taste of it dripping into his mouth-__ _ _ _

____Snape started down at the Potter boy. He was hyperventilating, eyes closed. Snape had meant to scare the Potter boy, of course… but he hadn’t expected him to do _this_.  
“Potter?” Snape gently shook the boy. _ _ _ _

____Harry violently flinched back, scared back into himself. He stared at Snape with wide, wary eyes._ _ _ _

____“Potter? Care to- ah- explain yourself?” Snape winced internally at his lack of elocution, but he was too shell-shocked to articulate better._ _ _ _

____“Just- ah- filled with remorse,” Harry blurted out the first excuse he could think of._ _ _ _

____“Remorse?” One dark eyebrow rose incredulously._ _ _ _

____“Violent remorse,” Harry amended._ _ _ _

____“Violent remorse,” Snape said. The other eyebrow had risen now. He didn’t look angry anymore. The atmosphere felt oddly lacking without the underlying nigh-murderous spite Snape was usually aiming at him. It almost felt… comfortable._ _ _ _

____It got less comfortable when Snape _would not stop staring at Harry_. _ _ _ _

____“Do I get breakfast before being expelled?” Harry blurted out._ _ _ _

____It seemed impossible, since Snape’s eyebrows were already practically within his hairline, but they somehow rose even higher._ _ _ _

____“When did you last eat?” Snape said after a few beats._ _ _ _

____Harry had to think a moment. “I had a sandwich and some toast yesterday,” he offered._ _ _ _

____“Nander!” Snape called, and for a second Harry thought it was some sort of inventive new curse, perhaps in some obscure language favored among Potionsmakers, but no, a house elf appeared instead._ _ _ _

____“Tea and a plate of breakfast.” Snape said._ _ _ _

____They were silent for a few minutes, Harry stunned into quiet, Snape not looking like he was entirely comprehending the situation either. Then the house elf returned with a pop, setting down a loaded plate for breakfast on Harry’s side of the desk, and the tea on the other side._ _ _ _

____Snape poured the tea while Harry bore down on breakfast; Harry didn’t look at Snape, but he could _sense_ the disapproving expression. Harry knew his table manners were horrible, but he was starving, and it wasn’t like the Dursleys had ever bothered to teach him all the rules of polite dining. _ _ _ _

____“Milk and sugar?” Snape asked._ _ _ _

____“Uh- no milk, one sugar,” Harry said._ _ _ _

____Snape passed the tea over. Harry stared at it. This all was very surreal. Possibly the weirdest- well, maybe second or third weirdest- day of Harry’s life. And that was saying something, considering how weird Harry’s life was._ _ _ _

____“Have you had any anxiety attacks before?”_ _ _ _

____“A-anxiety attacks?” Harry said, around the breakfast he was still polishing off._ _ _ _

____Snape grimaced, but said, “-that. What just occured now.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh- um.” Harry stared into his tea. His instinct wasn’t to tell Snape, but he had a sinking feeling Snape would get it out of him somehow even if he tried to avoid it. “Um. Maybe once or twice, I guess.” He thought of how fast his breathing had been when Uncle Vernon had beat him up._ _ _ _

____“Is there anything in specific that sets them off?” Snape asked._ _ _ _

_____When people say things similar to what Uncle Vernon said just before beating me to a painful pulp_ , Harry did not say. Instead, he took a long sip of tea and spent several minutes swishing it around slowly in his mouth so he didn’t have to answer. _ _ _ _

____“Is there anything in specific that set this one off?” Snape asked._ _ _ _

____“I dunno,” Harry said quietly, unable to figure out what Snape wanted to hear. Snape’s dark, piercing eyes pinned him to his chair, made him feel like he couldn’t hide a thing._ _ _ _

____Snape was silent. Harry ate slower now, trying to keep his mouth full so that Snape couldn’t make him talk, but what remained of the food was gone too quickly, and under Snape’s sharp gaze, he broke quickly._ _ _ _

____“It’s just… one phrase you said,” he admittedly quietly, already trying to think of a way to explain that wasn’t “my relatives hate me even more than you do”._ _ _ _

____Snape poured him more tea. They sat in silence as Harry slowly drank it. Again, Snape’s dark eyes made Harry fidgety and anxious, and he blurted out- “It was Quirrell.”_ _ _ _

____“Professor Quirrell?”_ _ _ _

____“He said something like that,” Harry elaborated on his lie. “He said something like that- down in the-” Harry swallowed._ _ _ _

____“Ah,” Professor Snape said._ _ _ _

____They were silent as Harry finished his second cup of tea._ _ _ _

____“Where is your luggage?”_ _ _ _

____“Uh- in the car-” Harry mumbled. “It- it crashed somewhere along the tracks... maybe about six or seven miles away from Hogwarts?”_ _ _ _

____Professor Snape sighed, pinching his bony nose between long, elegant fingers. “Detention for the next two weeks. Go get some sleep.”_ _ _ _

____Harry stared for a few moments in shock before Professor Snape waved his hand at Harry in an annoyed shooing gesture and Harry hurried out, unable to believe he’d gotten off so easily._ _ _ _

____When Harry stumbled into the Slytherin Common Room, hair a ridiculous mess, in torn clothes stained with blood and dirt- well, people stared. Harry just ignored them, because he was like that, and he didn't have time for any of that today._ _ _ _

____When Harry went into his dorm room, Blaise Zabini was carefully arranging his books and school supplies on his desk. He happened to catch a blur of pale brown in the mirror and turned to see Potter, a day late, no luggage, looking like he’d been chewed up and spat out._ _ _ _

____“Can you wake me for lunch,” Potter said, letting his snake slither down his arm and onto his bed. He sounded exhausted, and his manner was oddly casual, like he was too tired to posture and act as distant and stiff as he normally did._ _ _ _

____“If you tell me the story behind-” Blaise gestured at Potter’s maltreated body._ _ _ _

____“The barrier was closed so we took a flying car, it crashed, Ron got hella concussed, etc. etc,” Potter said, flopping out on his bed._ _ _ _

____“And you weren't expelled yet _how_?” Blaise asked somewhat bemusedly. _ _ _ _

____“Oh- I, um- Slytherin’d. Used my powers of Slytherin-ing to persuade Snape to _not_ chop me up into little Potions ingredients.” _ _ _ _

____Blaise had a slight urge to snort at that. Potter was the least Slytherin person in the House. He was always jumping into things. He made friends with useless people, like Granger and Weasley, instead of cultivating alliances with people like Blaise, Draco and Daphne. The only Slytherin thing about him was his snake familiar. Hogwarts’ general consensus was that he was in Slytherin by mistake, that the Hat had experienced some temporary insanity, or quite severely mispronounced “Gryffindor”._ _ _ _

____Blaise sighed silently as he finished ordering his books. Potter had already fallen asleep and was snoring ever so softly, his fluffy, curly hair moving with each breath. Blaise wasn’t sure if he should work to further his fragile relationship with Potter. Earlier in first year, there had been potential there; but it had never been explored, as Potter scorned all of his possible alliances within the Slytherin House, and befriended boring and resourceless students from other houses instead. Blaise had turned to other people, becoming closer with Draco, Daphne and Theo, and even Tracey, who was quite smart, and eager for alliances with her half-blood status holding her back._ _ _ _

____Still, Blaise could do with befriending the Boy-Who-Lived. As a member of one of the very few truly neutral families during the Wizarding War, he needed to have associates with a variety of backgrounds and political associations, and currently, his public image was leaning too much in the Draco Malfoy direction. Tracey was a valuable addition, but not enough to balance out the stigma of being a Slytherin, and his association with Draco and Theo. Blaise would need to become involved with someone openly and notably Light-sided; if not Potter, someone intelligent and subtle... a Ravenclaw would work, or maybe a Hufflepuff._ _ _ _

____Blaise adjusted his tie in the mirror so it didn’t stick up out of his robes too much. Once he was satisfied with his appearance, he left the dorm room, humming one of the jazz pieces that the band had played at the ball Daphne’s family had held at the end of the summer._ _ _ _

____Blaise woke Harry up about thirty minutes before lunch. Harry showered quickly, and then changed into some clothes from his trunk, which had been delivered to his dorm. Then, he headed out to lunch._ _ _ _

____No sooner than had Harry walked into the Great Hall than Hermione sprinted at him, yanking him into a tight hug. Harry was stiff in her arms at first, but relaxed into the hug after a few seconds, and allowed her to drag him to the Ravenclaw table, scolding him all the while._ _ _ _

____“-could have broken your bones! And you might’ve gotten expelled- how _did_ you avoid getting expelled, by the way? Anyway taking a flying car- honestly what were you _thinking_? Taking a flying car is the _least_ reasonable option to take- you should have just waited at the station!” _ _ _ _

____“I know,” Harry said soothingly. “That’s what we’ll do next time, okay? We’re okay, and haven’t been expelled, right?”_ _ _ _

____“I guess,” Hermione sighed, and pulled Harry into another fierce hug._ _ _ _

____“That flying car thing is true?” Padma asked over her book._ _ _ _

____“Yup,” Harry said, loading his plate up with food. “It- it sounded like a decent idea at the time, okay?”_ _ _ _

____Padma raised a single eyebrow and gave him a deadpan look, and Harry admitted, “it was a very idiotic thing to do and I’m sorry.”_ _ _ _

____Satisified, Padma returned to her book._ _ _ _

____The group spent what was remaining of the day just hanging out by the Lake, enjoying the little bit of time that they had before classes started up again. Neville had already realized he’d forgotten some stuff, so he worked on a letter back to his gran asking for her to send it._ _ _ _

____Parvati was talking about palmistry, which she’d read up on over the summer. She tested it out Neville and Harry for fun. Neville had an “earth hand” which apparently meant he was dependable and hard working with a strong will; they all agreed it was accurate, which left Neville blushing in a kind of happy embarrassment. Parvati said Harry had a “fire hand” which apparently meant he was charismatic, and prone to temper, which Harry thought was pretty inaccurate. Parvati stopped reading their hands when she looked at Harry’s life line and saw that it was only about an inch long, and didn’t even cross over his palm._ _ _ _

____“Does that mean I die young or something?” Harry asked, trying to laugh._ _ _ _

____“I mean… I don’t know how accurate this all is,” Parvati said. “There are different ways to interpret things, this form of Divination isn’t very precise.” She looked worried anyway, though._ _ _ _

____That night, Harry went to the notice board in the Slytherin Common Room with quill in hand. He didn’t have to look for more than a split second to see the notice for Slytherin Quidditch Team tryouts; it was on fancy, official looking parchment with Slytherin green borders. There wasn’t much information, just the time and date they would be held, as well as positions open, and then room to put down your name, and the position/s you would be trying out for._ _ _ _

____Harry scrawled out “Harry Potter, Chaser and Seeker” under “Draco Malfoy, Seeker”. His chicken scratch looked like a child’s handwriting under Malfoy’s elegant, practiced cursive, and he swallowed dryly, wondering if this was a good idea after all. But it was too late now, and the only thing to do was walk back to his dorm room like his hands weren’t shaking a little._ _ _ _

____It became clear at once that Malfoy had seen Harry’s name on the tryout sheet; he glared at Harry all through dinner, taunted Harry as they all got ready for bed, and, the next morning as Harry got dressed, stole Harry’s glasses. Harry’s lack of reaction spoiled Malfoy’s fun, and at last he rather petulantly returned Harry’s glasses, bored of trying to get to him._ _ _ _

____“I wasn’t aware you played Quidditch,” Blaise said. “You excelled in our flight classes last year, so I’m not surprised you’re trying out, but you’ve always seemed more… academically focused.” This conversation was stilted, awkward, more so than almost any Blaise had ever engineered, but every interaction with Potter was. Talking to him, interacting with him, was hard. It was like trying to carry on a conversation with a brick wall._ _ _ _

____Harry shrugged, glancing towards the Gryffindor table. “See you,” He said with a half-hearted wave, and headed to sit with Neville and Ron; he didn’t want to sit at the Slytherin table when Malfoy was so annoyed with him._ _ _ _

____Blaise slipped into his seat next to Daphne’s with a restrained huff. She sent him a sympathetic look as she served herself some fruit. “Other house teams aren’t as… dedicated as Slytherin’s, you know,” she said._ _ _ _

____Blaise nodded, serving himself some toast. That was true; but still, signing up for a house team implied either love of the sport, or love of the house, and Potter had never seemed very interested in Quidditch. Perhaps it had been foolish of Blaise to hope that Potter was looking to actually act as a part of his house._ _ _ _

____Ron was nervously fiddling all through the time when mail was being dropped off, sure he was going to get a howler from Mrs. Weasley._ _ _ _

____“Remember when your mum sent Snape one?” Harry asked around some bacon. “You should just do what he did, if you get one- stick it under a plate or bowl or something.”_ _ _ _

____But, luckily for Ron and everyone in the Great Hall’s ears, Ron didn’t get any howler- probably, Harry thought, Mrs. Weasley was too busy worrying over Ron’s still-healing concussion to summon the fury to send a howler._ _ _ _

____“Really lucky, that,” Fred said._ _ _ _

____“Coming in by flying car is just the sort of fun Mum’d be eager to squash,” George agreed._ _ _ _

____“Did you sign up for tryouts?” Fred asked, turning to Harry. The rest of breakfast was spent listening to the twins go on and on with tryout tips, and then comments and stories about the Slytherin Quidditch team in general. When Harry said Draco Malfoy had signed up for Seeker, too, they had even more to say about that._ _ _ _

____There was an extremely awkward instance later that day. Harry was walking to class with Tracey and Blaise, who were carrying the conversation with occassional pauses for Harry to jump in that he never took, when he realized a small, skinny first year was watching him quite intently._ _ _ _

____“I’m Colin,” He said breathlessly. He had a head of fluffy, mousy hair, and bright, shining eyes. “Colin Creevey. I was- I was wondering if I could have a picture with you?” He held up what looked like a perfectly ordinary muggle camera._ _ _ _

____“A picture?” Harry’s eyebrows rose. “With me?”_ _ _ _

____“You may not be aware of it,” Blaise said dryly from nearby, “but you are actually the Boy-Who-Lived.”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said. “But people don’t really buy that stuff, right?”_ _ _ _

____Blaise looked like he wanted to knock his head into something really hard._ _ _ _

____Creevey started jabbering on about how amazing the Boy-Who-Lived was and how he was just such a huge fan while Harry slowly retreated. Eventually, towards the end of the tirade, Harry just hurried off as quickly as he could, Tracey and Blaise following at a more sedate pace._ _ _ _

____“I can’t believe I have fans,” Harry moaned to his friends later. “I thought that was just like… a thing the newspapers talked about because they have nothing else to talk about. I don’t know… I guess I just forgot there are people with so little time on their hands that they obsess over _me_.” _ _ _ _

____“You’re a political symbol,” Hermione said. “It’s not who you are, but what happened to you.”_ _ _ _

____“That just makes it worse,” Harry groaned. “Can’t someone else be the political symbol? Hermione, you would make a far better political symbol, you know."_ _ _ _

____Hermione laughed, but she looked flattered._ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's finally going to have some more interaction with other Slytherins! Maybe they'll realize he really is a Slytherin, or maybe they'll just be more certain of their beliefs that he doesn't really belong in Slytherin. You'll have to wait and find out. 
> 
> Snape is not a kind or caring person, and I don't plan on making him some sort of mentor for Harry. He does have some nuance to him, however; he's not nasty and cruel 100% of the time, and I think considering all that he's been through, he would relate to Harry's trauma.


	8. a howler a day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The adults put the puzzle pieces together. They don't have good things to say about the picture it makes. 
> 
> This is a sort of... bonus chapter I guess? It's shorter than usual, and different in some other ways as well, so I figured I'd post it during the week. Normal updates will continue as scheduled, don't worry. 
> 
> Trigger warning for discussions of abuse.

The incident with Potter wouldn’t leave Severus’ head. As he nursed a bottle of gin that night, it played through his head, the lies becoming more and more obvious. His anxiety attack, Severus knew, was not about Professor Quirrell. It had been an admirable attempt at a lie- the boy was better at lying than Severus had realized- but Severus was tuned to the slight hesitations, the changes in breath, the little tics that easily showed that the Potter brat was lying through his teeth. 

It was not Quirrell, then, that had thrown him into an anxiety attack. So, had it been Severus himself? Was Severus such an intimidating figure that he caused twelve year old boys to have anxiety attacks? No matter how Severus tried to squash these thoughts, they popped up at him as he went about his day. 

The next day, during breakfast, Severus watched the Potter brat carefully. The Potter brat sat at the Gryffindor table, as he did at times. While almost every other student religiously stuck to eating at their own table, Potter could be seen dining at the Ravenclaw table or Gryffindor table, and bringing his friends along with him; the Granger girl and Ravenclaw Patil joining the cubs, or Longbottom and the Gryffindor Patil joining Granger and the other claws. It only served to further alienate Potter, who stuck out like a sore thumb among the very house loyal, almost exclusively pureblood snakes. 

It was well established that Potter ate with all the grace and dexterity of a starving hog. He ate quickly, barely chewing. He didn’t just try to stuff his face to the point of being unable to properly eat, instead he was very efficient, the food going down like he had thought through how to chip seconds off of the time to took to devour a plate of food. His arms were spread out on the table in a loose sort of circle around his food, like he was protecting it from the people around him. 

A chill went down Severus’ spine. How had he not noticed this earlier? 

Severus was lost in thought for the rest of breakfast, shutting down his colleague’s occasional attempts at conversation more quickly than he normally would. Even as he taught classes, his mind was still turning over the implications of what he had observed, trying to think up a way to dismiss this as nothing, as Potter just being a brat. 

One classes were over, Severus headed to the Hospital Wing. 

“I want you to speak to you,” He said, “About Potter.” 

Poppy looked up. She did not look surprised. 

“Potter had an anxiety attack yesterday,” Severus stated. 

“Maybe,” Poppy said after a few minutes, with a bit of an edge, “you went too far.” 

“I don’t believe that that is it,” Severus said, swallowing his anger at that insinuation. “He mentioned certain phrases, in association with Professor Quirrell. The statement about Professor Quirrell was a lie, but I believe he may have been speaking the truth about a certain phrase triggering the attack. As I observed Potter at breakfast, I noticed a certain… defensiveness to his eating habits. I was wondering if the Dursleys ever got back to you following your findings at the end of first year.” 

“I tried to contact them many times,” Poppy said with a grimace. “At first using the names Mr. Potter gave me, and then, once I realized Mr. Potter had purposely fudged the names, using their real names. They never got back to me, and Albus did not listen to my concerns; he refused to contact them for me. He says that Mr. Potter’s food issues were clearly as a result of stress, and not some sort of eating disorder, and that I should not disturb the Dursleys and worry them unnecessary, which sounds…” She shook her head in disgust. 

Severus swallowed his shame and guilt- he had almost completely dismissed Poppy’s concerns, as well- and nodded for Poppy to continue. 

Poppy sighed. “I’ve been meaning to call Mr. Potter in here for another check up, I just haven’t quite gotten around to it yet.” 

“Do you know if… they- received your attempts at communication?” Severus asked. “I seem to recall some drama around the sending of the letters last year, but I can’t recall if it involved Potter…” 

Poppy shrugged jerkily, her lips thinning and a dangerous spark glowing in her eyes. “If what you're implying is true…” she said in a low voice, the normally kind, if stern, woman growing deadly before Severus’ eyes. 

“We may not be able to contact them directly,” Severus said abruptly, “but Potter didn’t spend the entire summer with them, he spent about a month of it with the Weasleys instead…” 

Without further talk, Poppy and Severus hurried through the castle to Severus’ office, where they Floo called the Burrow. 

“What’ve the Twins done now?” Molly asked, looking tired and irritable. 

“It’s about Potter,” Severus said bluntly. 

The wrinkles in Molly’s face relaxed somewhat, and she smiled a tight looking smile. “Took Albus long enough… Don’t see how it took all of three weeks. You tell Albus, if he’d had you talk to me a day later, he’d be receiving a Howler from yours truly.” 

“What do you mean?” Poppy asked, forehead furrowing. 

“So this isn’t a response from Albus, then,” Molly said, face darkening considerably. “And if he hasn’t seen fit to talk to you two about it, then, well-” she pursed her lips- “I certainly will. Harry wasn’t responding to mail, so my sons went to pick him up rather abruptly. When they came back with Harry, he- he was skinny and pale looking, with a big, dark shiner on one eye.” 

There was no way around it, no way to explain this away. Harry Potter, the golden Boy-Who-Lived, son of spoiled prat James Potter, was _abused_. Severus cursed quite creatively under his breath, and for once the conservative Poppy didn’t scold him for it. 

Molly nodded in agreement. “That wasn’t all of it, either. Arthur told me that that very afternoon, the afternoon before Harry was picked up I mean, he was sent a notice for underage sorcerory… for the use of a Blasting Charm.” She sighed. “Why they didn’t send Aurors to check in at that point is far beyond me…”

A Blasting Charm. Severus felt like he’d swallowed an ice cube, the cold traveling down his chest and pooling in his stomach like some sort of retrospective fear. 

“Harry acted… off. He insisted on helping with cooking and chores despite not seeming to enjoy doing them, and my repeated reassurances that it was not necessary. He seemed-” Molly had to take a moment to collect herself, swallowing and pressing a knuckle to one of her eyes- “he seemed surprised whenever people complimented him, or expressed interest in his well being. And the way he eats… he eats like he expects someone to snatch the plate away from at any moment.” 

Poppy made a little noise like someone had just kicked her in the stomach. 

“A few days after Harry arrived, Ron came to me and asked- well, not asked, more like _informed_ \- us that Harry was going to stay with us now. ‘For holidays, and summers, and whenever he wanted’, he said. When I asked if something was wrong, he didn’t answer the question, and just said that we shouldn’t ask Harry about it.” She sighed. “I think that Ron knows more about Harry’s situation than I do. I think he must have asked Harry about it, only for Harry to shut him down, and tell him that he couldn’t tell anyone else, so Ron came to us- not to tell us, but to demand that we help Harry, even if Harry wouldn’t tell us his issues.” Molly had to wipe at her eyes, as she was well and truly crying now. 

There was a short period of kind of stunned silence, punctured only by Molly’s sniffling. 

“And you told Albus about this?” Severus ground out finally. 

“At first,” Molly said, “I just told him that I had suspicions that Harry had a... an unacceptable home life, and told him to investigate. I didn’t want to betray Harry’s trust, and I assumed that- that Albus would take it seriously. But, after a week, I contacted Albus again. He told me that he had been busy, that he had forgotten. That rang alarm bells at once, but I figured that maybe Albus didn’t understand the severity of the situation. So I told him a little bit about the signs. He brushed all of them off- until I mentioned Harry’s black eye. It was only then that he said he would investigate. It’s been two weeks since then, and he still hasn’t gotten back to me- every time I contact him, he’s got an excuse about how he really needs to do a bit more research to understand the nuance of the situation, or something,” Molly said, spitting the bit about ‘nuance of the situation’ out angrily. 

Poppy explained the situation on their end, and Molly’s smile just grew angrier and angrier, until it looked kind of like that of a bloodthirsty serial killer. “Well, in that case, I know I’ll be sending that Howler after all. Maybe more than one, actually. How does one for every day it takes Albus to get back to me sound?” 

“Not during breakfast, surely?” Poppy asked, eyebrows rising. 

“Of course not. I would never do that to poor Harry.” 

“Albus has made it abundantly that he does not take this threat to Har- Potter’s well being seriously,” Severus said, silky smooth as he drew them back onto topic. “He may even attempt,” Severus warned, “to derail attempts to remove Potter from that toxic situation.” Severus thought of how, when he had realized who Potter’s guardians were a few months before Potter arrived at Hogwarts, he had argued with Albus, only to be dismissed and disregarded, the Blood Wards put above everything that Severus suspected would make Petunia Evans an unfit guardian. 

“We’ll have to work around him, then,” Molly said, surprisingly fiercely for someone who was usually such a devote Dumbledore supporter. 

“We’ll almost definitely need Potter’s cooperation,” Severus said. “The first thing to do is to check the Potter will, to see if there are any possible guardians that guardianship could be easily transferred over to; unlikely, considering how many of those close to L- to them died in the War. After that, we’ll need to persuade him to press charges- we, and other witnesses, can testify, but he needs to talk about what happened, as well.” 

“Harry’s very private,” Molly said. “It’ll be hard to get him to talk about it.” 

“We’ll talk to your sons and others close to him first,” Severus said. “That way, we’ll have some basis before talking to Potter himself.” 

The group disbanded some time later, having schemed some more, each full of new thoughts and plans. 

Molly’s thoughts were bubbling with revisions to the Weasley sweater she was planning for Harry. It may be almost five months before Christmas, but, well, more time to make sure it was absolutely perfect. She was thinking green and gray- both to compliment his eyes and to make sure he knew his being a Slytherin was fully supported in their home- made out of the softest, thickest, stuff she could find. Plus, she needed to owl Bill and Charlie- needed to make sure they’d be home for the holidays, so they could meet the newest addition to the family. 

Poppy was already figuring out the best regime of nutrition potions for Harry. Harry was not as skinny as he had been when he first arrived at Hogwarts in his first year, but he appeared to have lost weight over the summer- a very frightening thing considering how skinny he had been at the end of the school year. He would have lost more if not for the month spent with the Weasleys. In fact, without that month at the Weasleys, well- Harry would be in a very, very bad state indeed. 

Severus was considering his various targets, and the best methods of attack for each one. He was also idly considering the best methods of attack to use on the Dursleys, of course- was strangulation too gentle a death?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. I cannot tell you how good it felt writing this chapter.
> 
> Snape is not a good person, and Harry is aware of it. He may be acting sympathetically at the moment, but he had no qualms acting incredibly hatefully towards Neville and Harry when they were younger. He will never be a mentor for Harry. 
> 
> Harry will get some nice mentoring, but from people more suited to it than Snape.


	9. greater good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus Dumbledore enjoys chamber music, ten pin bowling, and muggle candy. He does not enjoy making the hard choices, but he has to make them all the same.

When Molly had first told Albus that she had suspicions about Harry’s home life, Albus dismissed her easily. The Dursleys, Albus knew, were not particularly friendly towards magic, or Harry Potter. He may not be feed as well as he could be over the summers, and his clothes may be rather more ragged than those of the other students, but he was alive, and relatively well treated. The most important thing was that he was safe, and the only way to ensure that was the wards created by the bond of blood charm. 

Albus assumed Molly would drop the matter. Perhaps she would force extra food onto his plate, or give some of Ron’s old clothing to him. Albus did not expect her to Floo-call him about a week later. Albus had been listening to some chamber music while flipping through a muggle magazine to look at the lovely knitting patterns, when his fireplace suddenly lit up with green flames, and one angry Molly Weasley stuck her head into his office. 

Probably the reason Molly hadn’t bought Albus’ excuse of being busy and having forgotten about Molly’s request was because she had seen him cheerily conducting an imaginary ensemble with the pair of knitting needles Molly herself had given him for Christmas some years ago. A very worthy endeavor, Albus reassured himself. Down time was important just as much as work. 

“He has a black eye!” She burst out. “The Aurors almost came, they detected a Blasting Charm at his ho- his _place of residence_.” 

Albus froze. That went beyond even reasonable parameters. Hitting a child suggested a person driven by cruelty not rationality, someone who would be difficult or perhaps even impossible to reason with. Perhaps Harry should not be with his mother’s sister after all… Albus could theoretically dissolve the bond of blood between Petunia and Harry, and use the charm between Harry and another relative of Lily’s, if he could find one… 

Petunia had been the obvious choice, all things considered. She was a close relative, therefore further strengthening the bond, and her family muggles, thus allowing Harry some buffer from the fame that would come with his position as Boy-Who-Lived. And, Harry’s presence in return protected the otherwise vulnerable Dursleys. 

Albus did not know how much the bond had been strengthened by how closely Petunia and Harry were related. Albus didn’t know as much about blood wards as he would like. Blood wards were very old and Dark- they were most common as relics of old pureblood families. Even pureblood families didn’t create new blood wards, however; blood wards didn’t acknowledge bonds by marriage (which was part of why so many purebloods married incestuously) and still considered blood relatives who had been disowned to be “family”. 

Blood wards sometimes considered those who had shed blood in protection of a person “family” as well. Albus knew that James had taken hits and allowed his blood to be spilled several times in order to protect Lily, so it was possible that the blood wards would have considered him family. The real question was, even if James qualified as family, did that designation extend to his relatives? 

Albus headed to Cokesworth when he had time, and, with some effort, found Mr. and Mrs. Evans’ marriage certificate. Rose Evans, he learned, had been Rose O’Sullivan prior to her marriage to William Evans. When he searched for records of other O’Sullivans in Cokeworth, he found that there had been quite a few; evidently the O’Sullivans had been living in Cokeworth for quite some time. Rose had had a sister, Albus learned, named Jacqueline O’Sullivan, but there were no records of death or marriage, and he could not find her address in the phone book. 

The librarian suggested checking the newspapers to see if there was any news of her moving; the O’Sullivans had been a prominent family, and little ever happened in Cokeworth. Albus spent some time digging through newspapers- he was unable to use magic, as the librarian watched him like a hawk, probably afraid of him damaging the newspapers- but couldn’t find any mention of Jacqueline O’Sullivan. 

It was likely Jacqueline, who had been born a full decade after Rose, was still alive, but he had no way to contact her. All common methods of tracing people would not work; owls relied on magical signatures to find the recipients of the messages they carried, so they could only be delivered to those with active magical cores. Blood scrying, which Albus had used a few times to find people who would be otherwise very difficult to find, required blood. It was also expensive, Dark and very illegal, so even Albus had had the blood necessary, he wasn’t sure he would actually do it. 

Albus returned to Hogwarts rather disheartened, and spent the following days catching up on the work he’d put aside in order to make enough time to visit Cokeworth. He was still debating whether strong-arming, or using bribery on the Dursleys would be better, when he got another strongly worded owl from Molly. He needed to go to the Ministry anyhow, so he decided to check the Ministry records on the Potters, even though the chance that Albus would seriously consider sending Harry to live with James’ relatives was slim to none. 

The Ministry records had far more information than the Cokeworth library. In addition to the usual birth, death and marriage certificates, there were many articles about them in various newspapers, and even a few family history books. 

In addition to the British branch of the Potter family, there was an American branch, the most famous of which had been Abraham Potter, who had been one of the thirteen original Aurors of MACUSA. The American branch appeared to still be alive and well, though it was hard to tell seeing most tales of their exploits were across the pond. 

Aside from the American branch, there was an elderly aunt living in France with her wife and adopted children, and, going to University in Blackpool, the muggle son of a recently deceased squib cousin. 

On James’ mother’s side, there were loads of family members back in India. James’ mother, Ekavira Anand, had been the eldest daughter of Arnav Anand, a shrewd and intelligent wizard with investments in a variety of areas. The Anand and Potter families had a history of friendship; Fleamont and Arnav had been close business partners, Arnav being the major supplier of most of the ingredients in Sleekeazy’s. Fleamont had fallen in love with Ekavira over the course of his many business trips to India, and seeing as the two families already had a strong bond, the marriage was a smashing success, and the two families easily became one. 

Albus knew Fleamont had kept that bond alive and strong; the Potters would often vacation in India with the Anand family, and James had been fluent in Hindi. Albus even recalled James using Sanskrit based spells at times. And, some of the Anand family had been present at James and Lily’s wedding, even though it was a quite small wedding and mostly comprised of James and Lily’s friends. Lily had even tried to learn some Hindi herself, if Albus wasn’t remembering things wrong. 

Based on these observations, it was likely that the Anand family would be willing to take Harry in. Albus wouldn’t be surprised if the Anand family had already made it clear to Harry that they considered him one of their own. Or… attempted to, considering that Albus had layered owl wards on top of the blood wards. 

Which reminded Albus, he had never given Harry all the fan mail he had gotten over the past twelve years. Albus had edited the owl wards to allow in Harry’s friend’s owls, and Ministry and Hogwarts owls had always been allowed through, but other than that owls were redirected away from Harry. 

Maybe, Albus thought, mood brightening, he could go through all of the packages and things with some detection spells, and, once he had confirmed their safety, give them to Harry. He was sure young Harry would enjoy that- it would be a great pick-me-up after his rough summer. 

Albus continued his research. He couldn’t really get much information, but it seemed that placing Harry with his Potter relatives would be rather dangerous… he would only get a partial protection from the blood wards. 

It was a hard decision, Albus thought regretfully. A very difficult decision indeed. But, as painful as it was to make this decision… Harry would have to stay with the Dursleys. Quite simply, Albus could not risk Harry. He was the Wizarding World’s only real protection against Voldemort. There was no room for maneuvering, no compromise on his safety. He must live, and the only way to ensure that was for him to stay with the Dursleys. Albus resolved to visit the Dursleys and make sure Harry would be well treated once he had a day free. 

Albus was enjoying a vanilla-centered caramel candy while reading the latest issue of Transfiguration Weekly when an old, rather tired looking owl limped into his office, a huge red envelope held in its grasp. The owl dropped the howler. The howler opened its mouth- 

“I don’t even know where to fucking _start_ ,” Molly Weasley said, her voice dripping with venom. “HARRY IS AN ABUSED CHILD, AND YOU WANT TO LEAVE HIM WITH THOSE PIECE OF SHIT RELATIVES OF HIS? I THINK NOT, YOU SENILE OLD BASTARD. I THINK THE _FUCK_ NOT.” 

The muggle candy in his mouth no longer tasted so delicious. Albus would have liked it even less if he realized Molly was planning to send another five or so within the next hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pro tip: don't mess with Molly Weasley, she don't play
> 
> damn if this wasn't hard to write. I would have posted it earlier, but Dumbledore is hell to write. Snape and Dumbledore are like, the two hardest to write HP characters, at least in my opinion. I'm still not sure if I got this quite right but... I'm going to have to post it eventually you know? this is probably as good as this chapter is going to get. 
> 
> ...figuring out all the family stuff made me really tempted to write a nice family reunion. I bet the American branch of the Potters would all be fabulous, the muggle could be like? a scientifically minded skeptical guy who's just like wtf is with magic? and the cute old witch and her wife would be super adorable? And that's not even getting started on if, like, Harry went to visit the Anands. idk tho... what do you guys think? 
> 
> anyway! see y'all tomorrow with a regular long, Harry-centric chapter.


	10. tryouts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry tries some new stuff out.

The whole thing at Flourish and Blotts would have been enough for Harry to send some Snape level hatred towards Lockhart, but the man, somehow, impossibly, got _worse_. The beginning of the year pretest was an absolute shitshow- it was all about Lockhart himself. Instead of questions about spells and creatures and stuff like that, it was all on Lockhart’s favorite color and other silly trivia questions. 

It was just- Harry had wanted a real teacher this year, you know? Last year’s stuttering spells and half-assed explanations had been bad enough. Lockhart was a worse teacher than Voldemort. 

What made it even worse was that the one person Harry had been sure he could rely on to have some really cutting commentary on Lockhart was actually a huge fan. Hermione was crushing, and crushing badly; for some ridiculous, godforsaken reason, when Harry started ranting on Lockhart, she actually got angry. 

At least Padma was similarly outraged. “I’d be surprised,” she said, “if he’s done a tenth of the things that he says that he has.” 

“No one who unironically smiles like that should be trusted,” Fred agreed. 

“His teeth are blinding,” said George. “Seriously, they’re dangerously reflective.” The twins shuddered exaggeratedly. 

Then there was the Cornish Pixie incident the day after that. Harry had unfortunately discovered that they had sharp and pointy teeth, which were very painful when they bit. He’d done his best to dispatch them with cutting charm after cutting charm, but there were so many, Harry just couldn’t seem to get them all. 

Harry sat at the Gryffindor table because Malfoy was still bothering him, and rolled his sleeves up without thinking about the bites in vivid shades of bluish purple. Fred’s expression got an edge and then sharpened it. The twins exchanged the look that Harry had seen on their faces too often over the summer, and George suggested Harry cut class with them. For the first time in his life, Harry did. 

They went to the kitchen. The twins introduced him to the house elves, and they all had soft serve ice cream. They listened patiently while Harry explained what he’d tried, and then, with the same patience that they had explained Quidditch strategies, taught him the real way to deal with Cornish Pixies. 

“You need to know how to defend yourself,” Fred said, serious for once. 

“We’ll teach you what we know,” George said. “You’ve got to pass exams somehow, and that quack of a professor won’t help you a whit. You can bring your friends if you like.” 

“-although we think Granger has it well in hand,” Fred amended. “Mind like a steel trap, that one.” 

“Probably not starting right away, though,” George said. “You’ve got Quidditch trials soon, right?” 

“Tomorrow, actually,” Harry said with a nervous smile. 

They spent the rest of the afternoon reassuring Harry that he would be golden. 

That night, the Weasley twins were called into Snape’s office, and if the meeting was more the Weasley twins seriously explaining all the worrying things about their newest brother than snarking off to the bat of the dungeon, well, no one would believe it anyway. 

The next afternoon, Harry came to the pitch fifteen minutes earlier than the stated time. He’d done his best to flatten his hair, but his efforts only made it look worse, and he figured the wind would muss it up anyway. He was super nervous, and didn’t really know what to expect; the Weasley twins had described Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts for him the day before, of course, but they said that they didn’t know if Slytherin Quidditch tryouts went in the same way. 

The Quidditch Captain, Marcus Flint, as well as several other players, were already out on the pitch, dressed out in Slytherin green robes and talking to each other while standing in a rough sort of knot. As Harry approached, the group slowly fell silent. 

They say that he’s the savior of the wizarding world, one thought, looking at the tiny, scruffy kid fidgeting before them. 

“Hello,” Harry said a bit awkwardly. “I- I’m here for the Quidditch trials?” 

“Nice to meet you,” the Quidditch player who’d been considering him said, recovering quickly. “Harry Potter, right?” He gave Harry a firm handshake. “I’m Adrian Pucey, Chaser. This is Marcus Flint, our captain. These are our beaters, Isaac Merit, and Julian Rowan. Our keeper’s not here yet.” 

Adrian Pucey had a face that made him look like he was thoughtfully considering something all of the time. He had high, strong cheekbones, and a defined jaw. He was thin and tall, lean really- like a track star. 

Marcus Flint was broad shouldered and tall, with slightly rounded shoulders. He looked hulking, almost trollish, like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. Isaac Merit was short, and almost compact; Julian Rowan for his part looked to be nearly as tall as Adrian Pucey. Rowan had longer, slightly wavy chestnut colored hair, whereas the other players had dark brown or black hair. 

“You’re trying out for Seeker and Chaser, correct?” Flint confirmed. “Do you have any experience with the game? Have you played on a team before?” 

Harry answered the questions as best he could, growing more and more self conscious and uncertain as he did so. He’d only known how to fly for about a year, he only had about four weeks practice, he’d never been on a team or played in an actual real game in his life, and he didn’t have his own broom or supplies. The confidence he’d gained from what the Weasley twins had said was quickly draining away, but he refused to falter, determined to see this doomed endeavor through, as stopping now would just be humiliating. 

Flint had Harry do some drills. It was at this point that other applicants began to show up. The current Slytherin players worked together to watch various people performed basic drills, and then, once everyone was finished, began pitting them against each other. 

Harry had to race the other applicants for Chaser. He won several races, and when they competed to see who could score against Miles Bletchley, the Slytherin keeper, the most, he was one of the top people. Still, a kid named Morgan Gold had repeatedly scored more than Harry, and another boy, this one a third year with bad aim, had won almost as many races as Harry. 

In seeker drills, Harry again won several, but not all of the races, and he thought he did pretty well in the drills using the Snitch, as well. Malfoy tried to screw things up for him several times, but Harry managed to evade him pretty well. 

Flint informed them that owls telling them if they had made callbacks would be sent out in a few days, and Harry headed back to the dungeons, tired and already starting to feel a little bit stiff and sore, but feeling proud of himself. Even if he didn’t make the team, he felt like he’d performed well. 

Snacking in the kitchen, Harry talked with the twins until he got sick of it and starting veering towards worry, at which point Fred suggested they explain a bit more about DADA. 

“We don’t know as much as we should, either,” George said. “But Bill taught us some stuff. Whenever Bill and Charlie visit we all challenge each other to these sort of practice duels.” 

“The first and most important thing to know,” Fred said, “is that you can’t just throw spells however you like. You’ve got to have a plan, a strategy.” 

That night, Harry wandered down through the dungeons back towards the common room. He had just finished the night’s detention. Ever since the incident on Saturday, when Harry had had an anxiety attack in front of him, Snape had been… not nice, but not awful either. He didn’t say much, didn’t tell Harry he belonged in Gryffindor, not Slytherin, or taunt him like Snape had done before. But... honestly, at this point Harry didn't care if Snape actually started being well and truly _nice_ , although that was obviously never going to happen. He just... he would never like Snape. Snape had taunted him too many times. He'd made Neville cry for Merlin's sake. Harry only wondered- what was going on with Snape that he wasn't acting normally? 

Harry was heading to the common room when he heard a hissing voice- “...mussst find the intrudersss… find the intrudersss… sssaid the cassstle was infesssted…” The voice was ice cold and venonmous, sounding like Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk when she was angry, but amplified by about twenty times. 

“Hello?” Harry said, slipping into Parseltongue. Where was the voice coming from? “Who are you? What’sss this about intrudersss?” 

There was a moment, then, no longer sounding cold and angry, the voice asked, “...a sssnake?” 

“No, I’m a human, actually,” Harry said. “I can ssspeak to sssnakes, though… what were you sssaying about intrudersss?” 

“I am the defender of the cassstle,” the voice said, growing serious and fierce sounding. “Sssalazar’sss heir tellsss me that there are enemiesss within the cassstle…” 

“There aren’t any enemiesss,” Harry said, starting to feel confused. 

“The heir tellsss me that the enemiesss are hidden.” 

“I-” That actually kind of made sense. After what had happened last year, Harry could see there being some crazy in the castle. Maybe Lockhart. 

“Lockhart?” the voice asked. Harry hadn’t realized he’d said that out loud. 

“Yeah, maybe…” Harry said. “I don’t think he’s exactly trussstworthy… but I don’t know…” 

“Don’t worry,” the voice said, sounding kind of… gentle. “I will keep you sssafe, young ssspeaker.” 

Then there was a slithering sound and no matter what Harry said, the voice didn’t respond. The voice was gone. 

Harry trudged into the Slytherin common room, mind whirling round and round. A heir? A snake in the walls, one who said they were the defender of the castle? 

Harry kind of wanted to ask Blaise about it, as he would probably know what was going on, Slytherin pureblood that he was. But Harry was still unsure as to Zabini’s trustworthiness. And this… this sounded important. This sounded big. Could Harry trust Zabini with something like that? 

Harry’s mind flitted back to first year. “If you feel unsafe, contact me,” Tonks had told him. “If you think you are likely to be physically harmed, or in danger of dying, contact me.” 

Harry had no idea who these intruders were. He had no idea if they were dangerous. Tonks would still be angry if he didn’t contact her, he knew. Part of Harry was telling him that Tonks was probably busy doing Auror training stuff, that she had only said that in the heat of the moment. But the rest of him was remembering how serious she had been, how she had promised that if the situation required it she would come and help him. 

Harry sighed. It was just a letter. It wouldn’t take up too much of her time. It would just notify her of what was going on. He would start it off with an apology, Harry decided. ‘Sorry for bothering you, but I thought I should just let you know that there’s something going on at Hogwarts…’

Harry could ask the Patil twins about it, too. Ask them to keep an ear out for hissing in the walls… they would probably only think he was slightly crazy, not completely loony. Or at least, Harry hoped that they would think he was only slightly crazy. 

Harry entered the common room. Adrian Pucey was sitting with some other third year Slytherins, talking quietly as they edited their essays. He glanced up and happened to make eye contact with Harry; he gave Harry one of those cool, confident nods Harry sometimes saw the older students exchanging in the halls. 

Harry, supressing the excitement he could feel bubbling up, nodded back, and headed to his dorm room. 

Adrian, watching Harry Potter slip through the common room, wondered- as everyone in Slytherin had done at least once- how someone so famous, could be so nondescript, so close to invisible. 

“How did Quidditch tryouts go?” Blaise asked. He was wearing his silk pajamas, and currently was brushing his teeth with his bamboo handled, fancy bristled toothbrush. 

“Decently well, I think,” Harry said, grabbing his scruffy, neon toned muggle toothbrush. They were quiet as they brushed their teeth, Blaise wondering how to get through Harry’s self imposed walls, Harry mentally dictating the letter he was going to need to send to Tonks.

The next day after class, he sent the owl to Tonks, praying that she wouldn’t be too annoyed by him bugging her. Then, the same evening, he headed to detention with Snape. At the end of detention, Snape said, “Madam Pompfrey would like you to come in for a routine check up this Sunday after lunch.” 

Harry nodded, face neutral, but internally he was panicking. He knew he’d lost weight over the summer… at least Madam Pompfrey still thought it was an eating disorder. He would just say he had forgotten, make himself scarce Sunday afternoon. 

The next morning, when an owl arrived for Harry, he was surprised Tonks had replied so quickly- but when he skimmed it, he saw that it was from the Quidditch team. He had made callbacks.

“Told you so!” Fred crowed, grinning brilliantly. 

Saturday morning, Harry joined the Slytherin Quidditch Team into the Slytherin locker room. 

“The Slytherin Quidditch Team,” Marcus Flint said, “is more than just a team. We are in some ways a family. A brotherhood. In accepting these robes you are also accepting that you are part of something more than yourself now. You are a part of a team, and as a part of the team, you must take your responsibilities seriously, and support the others of this team.” He paused, looking Malfoy, then Harry in the eyes seriously. “Do you understand?” 

“I understand,” Malfoy said. 

“I understand,” Harry echoed.

Marcus Flint nodded firmly. There was a moment’s silence, then he waved his hand and told them to go get dressed. 

The Quidditch robes were comprised of a long sleeved white tunic, tan pants, and the actual robes themselves, which had a lace up front, but were open at the bottom, and hung like a cloak. There was also a sweater to wear under the robes for extra warmth in the thin, cold air high up, as well as long shin and knee guards, gloves, goggles, and even special shoes with thin, textured soles, probably so that players would be able to steer using their feet better. 

Harry didn’t really know how he was supposed to wear everything, but he didn’t want to ask for help, so he started by changing as quickly as possible into the tunic and pants. After that, he just imitated what everyone else was doing. The clothes were really comfortable; the sweater in particular was really nice and warm. Harry felt especially good putting on the beautiful green robes, which read POTTER 05 on the back in white, and contrasted his eyes nicely. 

(05 meant he had a position as Chaser. Not as good as Seeker, but still, Harry was glad to be on the team at all.) 

The shoes were also really nice. They went up a little past his ankles, and were really light and thin, but also super comfy; it almost felt like Harry wasn’t wearing shoes at all. Harry thought that they were made out of some sort of leather. 

Once they were also dressed- Harry took a few minutes longer than the others, to his embarrassment- Marcus had them gather round. 

“We’ve got some new brooms this year, thanks to Draco’s father,” Marcus said with a nod Malfoy’s way. “These are much more responsive to little changes in direction, so you need to be more conscious of what you’re doing. They’re also faster. I want you all to take it easy this first time, we’re just going to get used to the new brooms, start having this new team work together. The Gryffs are out there, too. I’ve got a note from Professor Snape, but we’ll want to avoid talking strategy. It’ll be good to intimidate the opposition a bit,” Marcus said with a smirk. 

Harry shifted a little bit, uncomfortable. He couldn’t help but wonder what Fred and George would think about this. 

The quidditch pitch was looking absolutely gorgeous in the early morning light. The dew was glittering in the grass and the air was cool and fresh smelling; Harry couldn’t help taking big gulps of it. He couldn’t wait to start flying. 

Up across the pitch were the Gryffindors, who must have spotted them because one of them was zooming down now. “FLINT!” He hollered, “This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!” 

“Plenty of room for all of us,” Marcus said. The other members of the Gryffindor team began to fall in. Harry made eye contact with Fred and waved a little awkwardly. Fred nodded back, but he wasn’t smiling. Aside from the twins, the rest of the team was outright glaring, though not at him; he was too short for anyone to notice. Harry bit down hard on his lip. He wondered if he would be welcome at the Gryffindor table anymore. 

“But I booked the field!” The Gryffindor Captain spat angrily. “I booked it!” 

“Ah, but I’ve got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape.” He pulled the note out of his robes pocket and waved in the Gryffindor Captain’s face, smirking as he did so. 

“You’ve got a new Seeker? Where?”

Malfoy stepped up, smirking. 

“And,” Marcus said smugly, “a new Chaser as well.” He gestured to Harry, who wished he had his invisibility cloak on hand. 

For a moment the Gryffindor Captain just gaped. “Harry Potter?” He finally gasped out. “Has he even played Quidditch before?” Harry bristled. “The kid’s tiny! He could maybe, _maybe_ make some passing stab at being a Seeker- but a _Chaser_?” 

“Why don’t we wait and see?” Harry said coldly. He didn’t even realize the words were out of his mouth until he saw the rest of the team’s smiles broaden and sharpen even more. 

“Think fame and money equals skill, do you Flint?” The girl with all of her braids pulled up into a high ponytail asked. “Just because Malfoy’s daddy’s got dough, doesn’t mean he can fly well.” 

“Funny you should mention Draco’s father. Let me show you the generous gift he’s made to the Slytherin team.” He held up the new Nimbus 2001 that they all had. “Very latest model. Only came out last month. I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps, it well, _sweeps_ the board with them.”

The Gryffindors were quiet for a moment, and then George mumbled, “that was such a shit pun, honestly,” and suddenly, Harry’s nerves were bubbling up and out in the form of little sniggers. Fred and George laughed too, and when they had recovered, some of the tension was gone. 

“Look, Flint,” The Gryffindor Captain said, looking like this hurt as much as pulling teeth, “how about you get the pitch for an hour while my team goes and eats breakfast, and we get the rest of the morning?” 

Marcus frowned. “Next time, you just share the pitch instead of throwing a hissy fit like a toddler who didn’t get the toy they wanted.” 

“Fine,” The Gryffindor Captain groaned, rolling his eyes. “You need the practice time more than our team anyway, seeing as you’ll have to be training two useless little shrimps to be Quidditch Players. Next time, don’t book on _our_ practice time.” The Gryffindor Team headed off, the twins giving Harry a nod as they left. 

“Can’t believe you’re friends with those blood traitors,” Malfoy said with a sneer.

“Can’t believe the wizarding world has its very own Nazis,” Harry shot back. It appeared early morning Harry had a complete lack of filter.

“Nazis?” Malfoy mumbled, sounding confused. “What are Nazis?” Harry just sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Professor," Adrian said, "I wanted to let you know. While changing in the locker room, I happened to get a glance of Potter- and he's really, really skinny. Rib cage sticking out, hollows above the collarbones, not eating enough kind of skinny." 
> 
> "I know," Professor Snape said heavily. "Believe me, I know. We're working on it."
> 
> AN: one of these days Malfoy is finally going to learn what Nazis are...


	11. the monster (of slytherin/privet drive)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People don't just ignore these kind of things. Or, well, they shouldn't.

Tonks had sent in a reply to Harry’s letter, which arrived Sunday breakfast. Harry was surprised and flattered that the first thing she said in her letter was to apologize for having taken so long, explaining that she had wanted to do her research before giving Harry advice. 

_It’s very smart of you to conceal the fact that you’re a Parselmouth_ , Tonks said. _Your suspicions about people’s opinions on Parselmouths is all too accurate. Don’t worry, I don’t believe any of that stuff people say. I’m a Metamorphmagus myself, which means I can change the way I look, or at least to some extent. I can change things like facial structure and height, but I can’t add wings or a tail or anything (as cool as that would be!) There are some bad associations with it, like we aren’t trustworthy, but no one who matters thinks things like that. Abilities don’t determine how good or bad of a person you are._

_Anyway, as for the voice you’ve been hearing, I did some research and there are rumors of something called the Monster of Slytherin. Apparently, when Slytherin left the school after an argument between him and the other founders (he only wanted purebloods at Hogwarts) he created a secret chamber, which was sealed so as to only be opened by his true heir. According to legend there’s some sort of monster hidden in the Chamber of Secrets that’s supposed to purge the school of everyone who Salazar Slytherin didn’t like._

Harry felt a chill run through him at reading these words. Were those the “intruders” that the voice had been talking about? 

_From what you’ve said, it seems like the Chamber has been unsealed by the heir. I would strongly advise that you tell the professors. I know that you want to conceal your Parseltongue abilities, and you don’t want to be disbelieved, but I really do think you should tell an adult. You don’t have to go to Snape, in fact I would strongly suggest you avoid him as I don’t think he’s trustworthy in the least (I hope you don’t find that offensive, sorry). The best person to go to I think would be Professor Sprout (not just because she’s Head of my house, but because she’s also super kind and understanding, she wouldn’t blow you off)._

_The fact that the voice you were talking to was speaking in Parseltongue implies it’s some sort of reptile or snake or something along those lines. It could be a regular snake, but enchanted or enhanced through some sort of magic. Or, it could be a magical creature in its own right; a dragon, some sort of gigantic runespoor ~~(kind of unlikely I think?)~~ , an occamy ~~even more unlikely~~ , a chimera, or, I think most likely, a basilisk._

 _I doubt it’s a dragon as those are pretty… unsubtle. Runespoors have three heads so I think you would hear three voices, not one, and chimeras have a lion head, so I think they would_ probably _roar not hiss, although I’m not sure. Occamies are only about 15 feet and are serpentine birds, but really snakes, so I don’t really think so. I doubt an enchanted snake, because that would take a lot of magic, and would be really complicated. So it’s probably a basilisk._

That made sense. Harry definitely hadn’t heard three voices, and there wasn’t the accent of a dragon, either. 

_If I’m going to be honest, basilisks are pretty ~~fucking terrifying~~ scary. Basilisks can kill with a look, although one of the books I found said something about an clear eyelid they can use so they don’t kill everyone? It’s from a pretty disreputable book, so I don’t really know. ~~all of these books are pretty disreputable and/or illegal so just take all this with about a pound of salt~~ These things are supposed to be pretty big, ~~some say up to a hundred feet~~ but don’t worry, something gigantic wouldn’t fit in the pipes. ~~Probably~~ Apparently, they can be killed by the crow of a rooster. I think that if you look at it through water or a reflection, you’re okay. They have a venom which is ~~very~~ very poisonous. ~~Hopefully that thing about the clear eyelid is a lie, I hope the heir dies by his own fucking monster~~_

Harry was just getting more and more worried. Tonks didn’t seem very sure about anything; she kept on saying “apparently” and there were tons of bits furiously scribbled out so that Harry couldn’t tell a word of what she had been almost saying. 

_Anyway, ~~let’s just hope it’s not a basilisk because fuck that~~ recap: Heir of Slytherin wants a school of only purebloods, has a monster, it’s probably a basilisk, basilisks are not good news ~~understatement of the century~~ , you’re going to talk to Professor Sprout because she’s a sweet, yet badass professor who’ll listen to you. Also, you are not going to do anything stupid, ~~because Merlin hex it to hell and back, you are too fucking young for this shit~~ because if you do I will kill you myself. Stay safe, or else._

_Stay safe you little shit,  
Tonks_

_p.s. Keep me updated, okay? And you don’t need something big going on to owl me, alright? I heard you made the Quidditch team, and I wanna hear about all of your games. The Auror program is more boring than you would think, and I love some good juicy Hogwarts gossip, especially about Quidditch._

_p.p.s. The professors will probably keep the thing on the down low, but tell your friends. That way ~~hopefully they can help me keep you from doing something stupid~~ they’ll be more careful._

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. This was bad. This was really, really bad. Harry’s breathing got faster, his breath harshly hissing in and out. It felt like his mind was being unspooled from his head; he was vaguely aware of that he was still sitting at the Slytherin table, but it didn’t seem real. He could feel his hands shaking violently but he couldn’t seem to stop them. Harry couldn’t do this. Not here, not in front of everyone. He put the back of his hand to his mouth, trying to be casual about it, and glanced around; no one seemed to be really noticing, too engaged in their own conversations. Harry didn’t know how they didn’t notice; his heavy breathing seemed so loud, but he was grateful they didn’t. 

Harry forced himself out of his seat and down the hall. He didn’t notice as the letter crumpled in his hand. He moved towards the Gryffindor table, wanting, needing help, but he didn’t want to bother anyone, so he swerved away, heading out of the Great Hall. He leaned against the wall just a little ways beyond the Great Hall, riding the waves of anxiety out until he felt mostly normal. 

Harry didn’t want to go back into the Great Hall when everyone had just seen what had happened; and anyway his stomach was churning too much for him to eat. And, he still felt weird; the world felt a little bit too colorful to be real. 

He was lingering uncertainly when Hermione hurried out of the Great Hall, her hair frizzy, obviously frazzled. “Harry,” she sighed in relief, “are you alright? What- what happened?” 

Wordlessly, he handed her the letter. He leaned against the wall, trying to keep his breath from speeding up again. 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione breathed as she finished reading the end of the letter. She pulled Harry into a hug, and for the first time ever, Harry really relaxed into it. Hermione was a great hugger- the best- but he’d never fully realized because some part of him was always holding back. Hermione let the hug stretch on for almost a half minute, and only pulled back after Harry did. 

“Come on, let’s go talk to Professor Sprout.” 

“She’s, um, still eating,” Harry said, gesturing towards the doors of the Great Hall. He leaned up against the wall again. He was breathing normally, but he felt tired. He kind of wanted to just go back to bed and restart today. 

“We can wait for her in the greenhouse,” Hermione said. “I know she goes there to water her plants after breakfast.” 

They waited quietly in the greenhouse. Hermione was looking at the plants. Harry had one of his favorite Weird Sisters songs stuck in his head, and he was tapping out the beat. Harry loved the way the trumpets and violin mixed with the strumming of the bass guitar. 

“What was talking to the Monster of Slytherin like?” Hermione blurted out abruptly, then blushed furiously. “I mean- sorry, you don’t have to answer if you didn’t have to.” 

“At first, it sounded angry,” Harry said slowly, “but then once I started talking to it, it didn’t seem as angry. Or at least, not angry at me. It seemed kind of… protective honestly.” 

Hermione hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe it doesn’t think Parselmouths are threats…” 

“If that’s true, then Hermione, we should try to see if you can learn a bit,” Harry said. “You’re- you’re probably in the most danger of any of us, and I bet- I bet I could teach you a feel phrases, Padma and Parvati say it’s real difficult, but you’re really smart, and I bet you could pick a few phrases up…” 

Hermione grinned at him. “You would do that for me? I kind of wanted to ask if you could teach me, but you guys seemed so... like it was something really private for you guys.” 

“Only because of how people think of it,” Harry said. “If I’d known you wanted to learn, I would have started teaching you ages ago.” 

Hermione pulled him into another quick, tight hug. “Maybe you could say something in Parseltongue, and I’ll say it back to you, and you tell me if you can understand it?” 

“Sounds good,” Harry agreed. “How about I teach you to say something like, I’m not a speaker, but my friend who is promises I won’t harm Hogwarts?” His forehead wrinkled. “I mean it’s a little long…” 

“Maybe we could start with the part about not being a speaker?” 

“Okay. um-” Harry took a deep breath, made nervous by the way Hermione was looking at him so closely. “I am not a ssspeaker.” 

“Say that again.” 

“I am not a ssspeaker.” Harry repeated himself. 

“I am-” it devolved into mangled hissing- “-peaker.” The words Harry could understand sounded a little bit weird, like there was an accent. 

“Um. Not quite. It’s ‘I am not a ssspeaker’.” 

“I am-” more hissing, “-ssspeaker.” 

“‘Not a’,” Harry said. “That’s the bit you’re getting wrong. It’s ‘not a’. I am not a ssspeaker, yea?” 

“I am not a ssspeaker,” Hermione said slowly. 

“Yes!” Harry cheered, giving her a high five. “You got it right! You’ve got an accent, but you can still understand what’s being said at least.” 

Harry was about to move onto the next bit, when Professor Sprout entered the greenhouse. 

“Professor Sprout!” Hermione called, quickly rising to her feet. “We have something we need to tell you about…” She took Harry’s arm, and, giving him a comforting squeeze, lead him towards the stout witch. 

“Miss Granger, Mr. Potter,” Professor Sprout said with a nod. “What do you need to talk to me about?” 

Harry shifted anxiously, opening his mouth and trying to start, but uncertain how to do so. “I- um-” He stuttered. “Well- I don’t even know where to start…” he said helplessly. 

“Start in the middle, and explain from there,” Professor Sprout suggested gently. 

“Voices,” Harry blurted out. “There was a voice in the walls. Talking about intruders in the castle.” He swallowed. “It’s a snake, or a reptile, or something like that.” 

Professor Sprout looked confused, so after a glance at Harry to ask permission, Hermione explained quietly, “Harry can speak to snakes, and things of the sort. We don’t know how far it extends, but it’s got to be something at least snake… _like_ , otherwise he wouldn’t be able to understand it.” 

Professor Sprout’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything, just nodded for them to continue. 

“The Chamber is open,” Harry explained. “And it’s probably a basilisk, according to Tonks. She did a bunch of research…” He pulled out the crumbled letter, and handed it to Professor Sprout. He and Hermione were silent as Professor Sprout read the letter. At the end, her face was very pale. 

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention,” She said at last. 

“Oh- um- you should know, I think Lockhart-” 

“ _Professor_ Lockhart,” Hermione hissed. 

“-is probably a target. Just, uh, by the way.” Harry coughed sheepishly. “Probably my fault. I didn’t do it on purpose, though. I just, uh. Didn’t realize the snake I was talking to was like, you know, a gigantic evil snake who hates muggleborns? So when it asked about intruders, I was like, uh- you know, there’s this professor who’s new this year, if there’s anyone who’s an intruder, maybe it’s him?” Harry slurred his words together at the end, trying to get it over with, then mumbled sheepishly, “so… yea… Professor Lockhart’s probably a target now.” 

“Alright,” Professor Sprout said, nodding absently. “Is there anything else I should know?” 

“It likes Parselmouths,” Hermione spoke up. “Harry is trying to teach me a phrase in Parseltongue, that might help a bit? Sort of like, ‘I don’t speak Parseltongue, but my friend who does vouches for me.’”

“That is _much_ shorter and more concise,” Harry groused. “I should have just taught you that instead…” 

“Parseltongue is a learnable language?” Professor Sprout asked. 

“Uh. To some extent.” Harry said. “It’s pretty hard to learn, though… Hermione’s smart though, I have no doubt that if she really wanted to she could become fluent.” 

Hermione grinned, blushing. 

Professor Sprout left quickly, seemingly forgetting about her plants for the time being. Harry and Hermione stayed. They spoke in low voices, Harry repeating bits of Parseltongue and then Hermione trying to say them back to him. 

The breakthrough came about about an hour later, when the sun had burnt through most of the morning’s mist.

“I am not a ssspeaker, but my friend who is vouchesss for me,” Hermione said, slowly but clearly. 

Grinning, Harry high fived her. “We should keep on practicing, though,” Harry said. “Not today, but at least once a week. Padma and Parvati say that it’s really easy to forget the intricacies of Parseltongue. Back home, they used to speak Parseltongue with their father a lot to help keep it fresh, but even before Hogwarts I think it was starting to slip, and they say you need, like, a lot of practice.” 

“It’s the same way with French,” Hermione said with a sigh. “Speaking another language, it’s not like a switch you flip and then you know it for the rest of your life. I try to read books in French to keep it up, but I guess with Parseltongue, you can’t do that.” 

Hermione and Harry stayed in the greenhouse, talking. Harry wanted to figure out other ways to keep them all safe; Hermione thought that the teachers would probably handle it. At last they compromised, Hermione agreeing that carrying a mirror with her, and trying to stick with at least one other person as much as possible, was reasonable. 

Hermione and Harry gathered the regular group, plus Fred and George, at the end of the Ravenclaw table at lunch. Hermione explained the situation in a low voice, Harry interjecting every so often. 

Fred and George were surprised by the revelation of the fact that Harry was a Parselmouth, but they got over without much fuss, and the group was more than open to learning the parseltongue phrase. Fred and George also brought up their earlier offer to teach what they knew when it came it to defense. 

“Maybe it wouldn’t help against a basilisk-” George said, 

“-but this just proves that Hogwarts isn’t safe.” Fred said, the hand gripping his drink white knuckled. “If the bastard is crazy enough to open the Chamber of Secrets-” 

“-he’s crazy enough for a whole shit ton of other things, too,” George agreed. 

“A lot of it isn’t spells, but more, like, reflexes,” Fred added. “Our DADA professors may have taught us pretty much jackshit when it comes to a well rounded selection of dueling spells, but we learned reflexes, form, and whatnot, despite it.” 

They figured out the meeting time so it wouldn’t interfere with the Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch practices, and decided on an empty classroom as the meeting place. 

They barely ate at all, consumed in their whispered conversations. They were some of the last students to leave. The group ended up heading to the kitchens, were they ate a real lunch, and Harry (with the Patil twins’ help) taught his friends how to say the phrase. By that afternoon, they could say the phrase correctly at least half of the time. 

The conversation turned to lighter things. Fred and George regaled them with tales of their best pranks, especially the ones on Ron. Ron retaliated with a couple of stories of explosions that Fred and George had had, and how badly his Mum had chewed them out for it later. Padma and Parvati told them all about India. Hermione talked about the muggle world. Even Neville and Harry found a few stories to tell. 

They spent so long hanging up, that they ended just eating dinner in the kitchen as well. Harry was enjoying a piece of chocolate cake when suddenly it hit him. He had detention that night- and worse yet, he had been supposed to go to the infirmary after lunch! 

Harry mumbled an explanation, and then sprinted off, leaving the cake behind. 

“Nearly a half hour late,” Professor Snape said, voice icy cold- deadly. 

“I forgot,” Harry said weakly. 

“And the visit to Madam Pompfrey? Did you _forget_ that as well?” 

“Um- yea.” Harry swallowed, licked his chapped lips. “Sorry, sir.” 

“ _Sorry _?” Snape hissed. “Is that all you have to say?” He got up and walked out of the room, robes billowing. “Follow me, Potter.”__

__Harry nervously trotted after Snape, struggling to keep up with Snape’s longer strides._ _

__Snape slammed the door to the hospital wing open dramatically. “You will sit on this bed. You will cooperate with this check up. You will answer all questions fully and honestly. Understood?”_ _

__Harry swallowed. His mouth was so dry. Answer all questions fully? Honestly? _What did they know_? “Um. Yeah.” He gingerly perched on the edge of the bed. _ _

__“Excuse me?”_ _

__“Yes, sir,” Harry mumbled. His hands shook, so he tucked them under his thighs. Who had told? How much as they said? What did they know? How was Harry going to get out of this one?_ _

__Madam Pompfrey walked in. “Hello, Harry,” she said gently. “I’m sure you’re wondering what you’re here for, so I’ll try to explain it as best as possible.”_ _

__Harry really wasn’t wondering, actually._ _

__“Every professor at Hogwarts had an obligation to take action if they suspect that one of the students may be… in an unsafe family situation. Mo- Mrs. Weasley informed Professor Snape and I that she believed that you were in an unsafe situation. She told us that when you were picked up from your h- place of residence, you had a black eye. She also told us there had recently been use of a blasting charm at your place of residence.”_ _

__Madam Pompfrey stopped talking, obviously wanting Harry to explain. As if Harry would crack, and starting crying and whining about how much the Dursleys hated him. Harry was stronger than that. It may be too late for excuses, but Harry didn’t have to talk._ _

__“You promised,” Professor Snape reminded him in a silky smooth voice, “to answer, fully and honestly, all questions, you are asked.”_ _

___Fuck_. “Madam Pompfrey didn’t ask a question,” Harry managed. His voice sounded thin and reedy even to his ears. _ _

__“How did you acquire that black eye?” Madam Pompfrey asked softly._ _

__“Someone punched me,” Harry parried back. He felt like he might have another anxiety attack. He tried to concentrate on breathing deeply and steadily._ _

__“You promised to answer all questions _fully_ ,” Professor Snape reminded him coldly. _ _

__Harry bared his teeth at the man, his anxiety suddenly replaced with pumping adrenaline. He could feel the blood rushing to his face, his careful control slipping away as he filled with a heady mixture of rage and adrenaline. “Fine. I’ll tell you all about it,” He said. He opened his mouth and the full story tumbled out._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write. :/ 
> 
> I'm really not very happy with it but next one should be good so... :) 
> 
> I'm sorry I didn't read through/reply to all of the comments on last chapter. Today was pretty chaotic, and it was either get the chapter done or respond to the comments. 
> 
> Sorry for the cliffhanger haha.


	12. the truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry tells some fun stories from his childhood (if it can be called a childhood).

“I gave my cousin some cake in order to make him stop bugging me. My aunt figured I must have poisoned it. Aunt Petunia rushed darling Dudley off to the hospital, and Uncle Vernon stayed back to punish me.”

Harry’s adrenaline was draining rapidly, his voice cracking on the last couple of words. He fell silent, thinking of Uncle Vernon’s threat. He wondered idly if Uncle Vernon would want to kill him for this, too. Or would Harry’s death come by the whispers of the other students when it inevitably, somehow, leaked? 

“This was the night you left?” Madam Pompfrey asked softly. Too softly. Harry didn’t want her pity. 

“No. This was six days before it,” Harry forced out. He chanced a glance at Snape. Snape’s eyes were the same neutral, expressionless obsidian black as always. 

There was a long silence, and then Madam Pompfrey, looking at the parchment his diagnostic from last year was on, asked- “the dog bite?” 

“Aunt Marge’s dog, Ripper,” Harry said, suddenly tired of this. “He likes to go chasing after me, hoping to get a bite, and one time, I tripped. I was lucky I managed to get up so quickly, or it would have been worse.” 

“The malnutrition?” 

“I’m not starved,” Harry said slowly. “Just… don’t get as much food as I would like. And then there was when I messed up, did magic. The worst so far is six days, I think.” 

“Six days what?” Madam Pompfrey looked pale. 

“Six days of just a couple of mouthfuls of food.” Harry paused thoughtfully. “If not for the Weasleys, it would have been longer. Much longer.” 

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow, and Harry forced himself to continue. 

“I knew they were coming, and when. I waited, and then I broke out. That was what I got the owl from the Ministry for.” 

“Broke out of…” 

“I was locked in my bedroom. I didn’t have a key, so I had to blow up the door.” Harry sighed, rubbing his face. “I didn’t mean to; I was trying to unlock it, more subtle that way, but…” he shrugged. 

“Typical Potter incompetence…” Snape muttered, though it seemed to Madam Pompfrey almost half-hearted.

“I think I did quite well, considering I didn’t have a wand,” Harry snapped, then instantly regretted it. 

“Where was your wand?” 

“In the fireplace, in the form of ashes,” Harry said dryly. “They looked through my bedroom and found the schoolbooks and whatnot I’d hidden. Uncle Vernon burnt the wand; I don’t know what Aunt Petunia did with my old school books. I’ve got a wand now, though. Bought a new one, so…” he shrugged like it didn’t even matter. Snape gritted his teeth.

“And after you blew up the door?” Madam Pompfrey asked. 

“Uncle Vernon came running with the letter from the Ministry, talking about how I would be expelled from Hogwarts.” Harry paused, remembering his response. He grimaced. He was going to be in so much trouble. 

“And after that…” Madam Pompfrey prompted. 

“Threatened to beat me up again. I, uh, lost my temper and…” Harry winced, “...cussed him out. Uncle Vernon threatened to kill me,” he shrugged jerkily, “I bluffed my way out.” 

“Bluffed?” Snape asked sharply. 

Harry sighed. “He just saw me cause a door to explode into a million little pieces. I pointed out that it would be a gruesome death if the same thing were to happen to him.” Harry winced, then said, “I led him to believe I didn't care I wouldn't be able to go back to Hogwarts, as long as I got to see him die painfully.” Harry could have sworn he saw a hint of surprise on Snape’s face before he quickly brushed it aside, and Madam Pompfrey looked at him like he had just grown horns. 

“He gave me the key and I retrieved the rest of my school things,” Harry finished things up. “I waited outside until the Weasleys showed up.” 

There was another long silence, and then Madam Pompfrey asked, “Is there anything else I should know? Anything else they did, or said?” 

Harry was quiet for a while, and then spoke up. “My aunt takes swipes at me with her frying pan sometimes. Uncle Vernon threatened to kill me if I hurt Dudley. There was other stuff, but I don’t think it matters.” 

“Tell us everything that the Dursleys did differently between you and their son,” Madam Pompfrey instructed him. 

“I never got presents,” Harry said slowly. “I never had sweets. I always did chores. I wore hand me downs. I’ve had the same pair of glasses since I was eight. Before I went to school, I didn’t know what my name was. I thought my name was Boy, because that was what they always called me.” He laughed humorlessly. “I lived in the cupboard under the stairs, but you probably know that already.” 

“Probably know that- what do you mean?” Snape hissed coldly. 

“Well, it was on my Hogwarts letter, wasn’t it?” Harry said idly. “Mr. H. Potter, Cupboard Under the Stairs. Dumbledore and McGonagall signed off on it, so they had to have seen.” 

“Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, Mr. Potter,” Snape said, but it didn’t have quite the usual bite. He got up and began to pace. “Are you telling me that you were under the impression that the faculty was aware of your situation and utterly uncaring towards it?” 

Harry shrugged jerkily. “Hagrid saw how the Dursleys treat me, or at least a bit of it. It’s not illegal to hate someone.” _You hate me almost as much as they do, after all_. “Until recently, it wasn’t even that bad. Everyone gets grounded. Everyone has to skip dinner if they misbehave. Everyone has chores. Everyone gets chewed out by their parents sometimes. Bullying is pretty common. Lots of kids wear hand me downs.” 

Harry paused thoughtfully. “I guess most people get taken to the doctor, and are called by their name, and don’t grow up sleeping in a cupboard, but every family has their quirks, and who really cares, if it’s the foreign delinquent who’s always dressed so shabbily?” He grinned, but it was more of a feral baring of the teeth than an expression of happiness. 

There was another long silence. Harry looked at the window, absently watching a beetle crawling across the windowsill. Madam Pompfrey asked him about a diagnostic charm, and Harry nodded absently. Now that he’d blurted everything out, he felt spent. Kind of empty. 

“Right,” Madam Pompfrey said once the diagnostic charm had finished noting everything down. “Your scrapes from the car crash have healed up quite nicely, and your black eye and bruises from the Dursleys are almost completely healed. However, you are quite severely underweight. Do you really have difficulties with an upset stomach, or was that an attempt to cover the Dursleys’... treatment?” 

“Um, a bit of both,” Harry confessed, blushing. “I really do have difficulty eating when I’m nervous.” 

“Well, if you are finding yourself having issues, just stop by the hospital wing and I’ll give you a nice stomach settler potion,” Madam Pompfrey said with a firm nod. “I will be asking the house elves to add a regime of nutrient potions to all of your food. Additionally, I will take you to get your eyes checked by an oculudian on Friday afternoon.” 

“Oculudian?” Harry asked. It sounded like something to do with the occult to him. 

“A healer who specializes in eyes,” Madam Pompfrey explained. 

“What, so you guys’ll just leave it be?” Harry blurted. He felt a little bit disappointed. _Fuck_. How had he gotten his hopes up so fast? He knew there was no way that this was going to end well for him. 

Madam Pompfrey and Professor Snape exchanged a glance. “We are required to report abuse to the Auror department,” Madam Pompfrey said at last. 

_Fuck_. 

“Child abuse trials have meticulous secrecy standards,” Madam Pompfrey said soothingly. “We know an exceptional lawyer who would represent you quite well, I think.” 

“Is that all?” Harry asked, lifting his head. 

Professor Snape inclined his head in answer, and Harry hurried out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurs to me that tcf!Harry is maybe a little bit of a badass. I would definitely characterize in-canon Harry as a badass, but mostly starting around fifth year. Hopefully Harry's not unbelievable. I'm trying to make him nuanced, like, he has his moments of cunning and bravery, but he's also awkward and able to make mistakes (like not asking for help). plz let me know if you guys think Harry is unrealistic and I'll write him differently in the future
> 
> this is kind of another FINALLY moment. aka Harry FINALLY asking for help with regards to the Dursleys. 
> 
> Things are really going to start diverging from canon soon, which is sure to be fun.


	13. the mouse who thought he was a snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An update on Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk, new glasses, and, in the midst of all the chaos of the mystery around the Chamber... a newspaper article on Harry.

Harry stared absently into the mirror. There was so much going on. There was the closed border at King’s Cross, the opening of the Chamber, Dobby warning about something coming… did Dobby know about the opening of the Chamber? Was it the Malfoys, then? Had it been Dobby who closed the border, or had it been whoever had opened the Chamber? 

Harry thought back to last year. The centaurs believed Voldemort was coming back. Professor Dumbledore had seemed to think that Voldemort had only been beaten back, not defeated. He seemed to figure that Voldemort was sure to come back. Was this Voldemort, then? Was Voldemort the Heir of Slytherin? 

That would explain the border, perhaps. And Dobby, maybe- Voldemort wouldn’t want Harry coming back to school, when he knew that Harry could burn him with his hands, so he would try to keep Harry out of Hogwarts… 

What did it mean that Harry could speak Parseltongue instinctively, when everyone else could only learn it? The snake in the walls had implied the Heir was a speaker as well… did that mean Harry was also descended from Slytherin? Was that how he could speak Parseltongue instinctively? 

_“Perhaps you are more Slytherin than I had assumed.”_

Had Quirrel known? Was that what his remark had meant? 

“Are you using the sink or not?” Nott asked. 

“Sorry.” Harry stepped aside. He adjusted his tie and then left the bathroom. 

Harry didn’t hear a word his teachers said. His parchment was filled with absent doodles of snakes, with holes where he had pressed the quill nib so hard it punched through the parchment. 

_“My master requires more sustenance than I can provide him…”_

If Voldemort was here, he would be possessing someone. But more than that, he would be looking for something more, something else to sustain himself properly… maybe it had something to do with the Chamber. Maybe there was something hidden in the Chamber that would help him. Maybe whatever snake was hidden in there. 

Harry concentrated on keeping his breathing steady, resolving to talk to his friends about it. ...were unicorns starting to die again? Harry would have to ask Hagrid. 

Over the next few days, Harry didn’t pay much attention to class. He was always distracted during class, and outside of class, he was busy. There was Quidditch practice, where Harry learned various plays, learned to work with the other Chaser. In his spare time he was in the kitchen with his friends, listening as they repeated bits of Parseltongue back to him, or listening to Fred and George tell them about how to defend themselves. 

In the evenings he trudged through awkward questions the Aurors who were working on his case asked him. The Aurors were kind if a little bit intimidating, but it would have been hard to speak of what happened to anyone, and Harry’s fear was made worse by the fact that he knew they were keeping notes of everything. 

He wasn’t sleeping very well, either. Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk was absent, and the combination of not having her there to soothe him to sleep, and worrying about it she was alright made it even harder to sleep. 

One night she reappeared at around midnight like she hadn’t been missing for the past week or two. 

“Where have you been?” Harry hissed. 

“I found the King of Sssnakes,” Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk hissed tiredly. “I’ll tell you more if you give me a nice ssscritch…” 

Harry began petting Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk; Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk snuggled into his hand for a moment before slowly beginning her story. 

“I wasss out a long trip, exploring and hunting asss I did ssso. I wasss enjoying a trip through a dark earth placcce where there were many miccce, when the dark placcce ended, to go into a bright placcce. I went into the bright placcce, becaussse I could hear a hisssing of a great sssnake, and it hasss been a long time sssince I have ssspoken to a sssnake.” 

Harry winced guiltily. 

“I traveled as quickly asss I could acrosssss the bright placcce. There was another placcce, very wet, where I heard more of the hisssing coming from.” Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk sighed happily. “I ssspent a long time there, enjoying the wet. It was very niccce.” She wiggled in happiness. “Then a human came. It made a loud noise when it sssaw me. It picked up my tail inbetween itsss fingersss, and put me in a ssstrange ssslippery white placcce, and made more loud noisses. Then water came down on me. I sssnapped at the human, and it made an even louder noisse, and ran. Then, the white placcce moved away, and there was a great dark hole which I essscaped into.” 

Harry tried to translate that in his head. Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk had been in… a bathroom? Someone had came and got scared, put Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk in a sink. And then somehow it had opened to some sort of tunnel? 

“The way down the dark place was very sssteep, ssso I found a smaller place, not as steep. It was tight, and dark, and I was a bit ssscared, but at last I found myssself in a big open placcce. The King found me there.” 

“The King?” 

“The King of Sssnakes.” Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk sounded proud as she added, “His name is Hhtchkk’sssh’khchhk’sl’llsss’ssii’kkhhh, Defender of the Castle, Lord Sssalazar’sss legacccy. He lets me call him Hhtchkk’sssh’khchhksshh.”

“What’sss he like?” 

“He’sss very hungry,” Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk said anxiously. “Very hungry… he’sss been sssleeping for a long time, but he’sss ssstill hungry. He’sss got many ssstories, and he’sss very kind. He knew the eldessst ssspeaker, Sssalazar Ssslytherin. He’sss got a ssstrange ssscent about him, though… it clingsss to him.”

“I came back becaussse I’m worried about him,” Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk said. “He’sss sssort of ssscary, and I’m ssscared for him, too… you need to help him, pleassse, Harry…” 

“I’ll try,” Harry said, although he had no idea what he could do. “Tell me more about him. What kind of sssnake is he?” 

“He’s a King of Sssnakes,” Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk said. “He hasss the eyesss… he isss long, long beyond comprehensssion… hisss hide isss very tough… hisss venom is ssstrong…”

“A basssilisssk…” Harry breathed. 

“The mousssy one wakesss,” Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk warned. 

Harry whipped around to see Malfoy stirring in bed like he was waking. But Malfoy just rolled over and went back to sleep. 

“A basssilisssk,” Harry said again, quieter. 

“Yesss.” 

Harry felt like there was something he was missing, felt like he had the pieces of the puzzle if he just figure out how to put them all together… he didn’t tell his friends, he wasn’t exactly sure why. He barely slept, and his dreams were strange, full of snakes and dark tunnels. 

On Friday after class, Harry met Professor Snape in his office in order to go visit the oculudian. 

“You have not, I presume, used a Floo before,” Professor Snape began, but Harry quickly said, “I know how to use a Floo, sir.” 

Professor Snape stared at him for a moment as though wondering if Harry was being disrespectful or not. His lip curled slightly and he said, “We will be Flooing directly into the oculudian’s office, where I have booked a private session. The address is number ten and a tenth Horizontal Alley; be sure to ennunciate properly.” 

Ten and a tenth Horizontal Alley was small and pleasant. It smelt of vanilla and some unidentified spice. The walls held posters showing letters in descending sizes; in the very center of the shop was a quite comfy looking chair. 

The oculudian was a short man with laugh lines, who patiently explained everything he wanted Harry to do, and encouraged Harry to ask questions. 

“Why are glasses even necessary?” was the first question Harry asked. He could _sense_ the look Professor Snape was wearing, so he quickly elaborated, “why don’t wizards just transfigure the eyes so that they don’t need glasses?” 

The oculudian patiently explained about the limitations of human transfiguration, and Harry nodded along. “I think muggles can fix eyes,” he blurted out. 

The oculudian chuckled. “I would be very impressed if they could,” he humored Harry, making it obvious he didn’t think it was possible. 

“My aunt was talking about it, one of her friends got laser eye surgery so that she wouldn’t need glasses anymore,” Harry said weakly. 

“Perhaps you misheard her,” the oculudian suggested sportingly. “Now that you’ve finished with your examination, why don’t you pick out a glasses design?” 

Harry let the subject drop in favor of admiring the selection of glasses available. There were half moon glasses, square glasses, monocles and horned glasses on leashes. They came in reds an blues and greens, rich dark chocolates, blacks and golds and bronzes and silvers. Some of them had leashes. Some of them had slight tints. But all of them, all of them were beautiful. 

“Which one’s the cheapest?” Harry asked at last. 

“I’m afraid I shan’t be telling you that,” the oculudian said with a chuckle. “You just pick the one you like the best, why don’t you?” 

Harry remembered when he’d gotten his first pair of glasses. They’d been second hand, the cheapest Aunt Petunia could find. _”Round, just like your father’s,"_ Aunt Petunia had sneered. 

“I’ll take these,” Harry said, indicating a set identical in shape and style to his old ones, except made out of golden metal instead of cheap black plastic. 

Harry sat at the Ravenclaw table for dinner and told Hermione all about his visit to the oculudian. It was the first time he’d really talked to one of his friends in several days; ever since Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk’s story, he’d been quiet, distracted. “I told him about muggle laser eye surgery. He didn’t believe me, of course.” His lips twitched up in a wry, frustrated smile. 

“Wizarding society can be so _backwards_ ,” Hermione sighed softly. “It’s got so much _potential_...” 

“I bet you’ll change it,” Harry said. 

“Thanks,” Hermione replied, but she didn’t seem any happier. 

“I’ll help you change it,” Harry tried. “If you like it.”

Hermione’s smile became a bit more geniune. “It needs loads of reforms, that’s for sure. And I need to do more research… understand it more… it’s a bit of a pipe dream, I know…” she trailed off, bit her lip. 

“I never told you- I don’t know why- but… Malfoy called me a- a m-mudblood. I was doing research in the library last week, and he got all angry because… it doesn’t matter why, it was a silly thing anyhow… But I researched it, and Harry, it’s a very foul word… it’s a slur, a slur which says my blood is dirty, that I’m- I’m _lesser_ , not _human_.” 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly, helplessly. His gut twisted. 

Hermione laughed harshly. “How can I reform a world that doesn’t even want me?” 

Harry didn’t know what to say to that. 

At the end of Harry’s last session with the Aurors, he anxiously asked, “so… what happens now?”

“The Ministry will collaborate with your lawyer and your relatives to arrange a hearing,” Auror Bowman-Steill said. “Probably somewhere between a week and a month from now.” 

Harry’s anxiety must have shown on his face, because Auror Steward said, “Don’t worry, kid.” He hesitated slightly, then said, “I don’t think they’d let your relatives off with just a slap on the wrist.”

“Good luck, Mr. Potter,” Auror Bowman-Steill said with a nod. 

The inevitable happened Monday. 

Harry was sleepily eating breakfast when the owls came with their letters. For once, Harry actually had mail; a reply from Tonks, and a brief note from Hagrid updating him that, while no unicorns had been killed, several chickens had been, and also inviting him over for tea and rock cakes. 

Harry tucked away Hagrid’s note with a small smile, and moved onto opening Tonks’ letter, when Malfoy yelled out, “Potter!” 

Harry raised his head tiredly; he didn’t want to deal with Malfoy’s bullshit right now. He tucked Tonks’ letter away for later, figuring if Malfoy wanted to bother him, he probably wouldn’t have a chance at reading it during breakfast. 

Malfoy looked oddly serious as he said, “is it true?” 

“Is what true?” Harry asked, heart pounding. He kept his eyes on Malfoy, but he could sense that the rest of the hall was very much paying attention. 

George nudged Fred and the two of them got up from the Gryffindor table and started moving. 

“The article.” He held up a Daily Prophet, the headline of which screamed, BOY-WHO-LIVED-TO-BE-ABUSED. “Did those- _muggles_ \- really…” His face was filled with disgust and disbelief. 

The Great Hall watched as the Boy Who Lived went pale and froze, staring unseeingly at the newspaper. 

“It’s true, isn’t,” Malfoy said, sounding almost _angry_. “They really treated a wizard like that.” 

“Move,” Fred coldly told Blaise. Blaise quickly scooted over, and Fred slid into the spot next to Harry, fixing the surrounding Slytherins, especially Malfoy, with a deadly stare. 

“C’mon,” George said softly, giving Harry a little shake. “You’re getting outta here.” He took Harry’s arm, and the two of them stood up together and started walking out. 

Fred leaned right into Malfoy’s face. “Have a little _discretion_. Slytherins are supposed to pride themselves on their subtlety, aren’t they?” His voice grew colder. “Don’t mess with Harry, and if you do-” he paused, his lips moving up in an utterly humorless smirk, “-watch your back.” Then he was up and and quickly following George and Harry out.

Hermione got up and started after them, Ron, Neville, Padma and Parvati only a few steps behind. 

The room erupted in whispers and conversation as soon as they were gone; Slytherin especially was abuzz. 

“Think you played that one a little clumsily,” Nott smirked; Malfoy scowled unhappily back. 

The group burst into the kitchen and spotted Harry and the Weasley twins at once; they were sitting at a table, the twins flanking Harry. 

They approached cautiously; Harry looked pale and panicky still.

Harry stared at his friends. Ron was giving him a worried, wobbly smile; Neville looked pale and upset, Parvati was sobbing quietly and Padma trying to comfort her, and Hermione… 

“Can I give you a hug?” Hermione asked, voice trembling. 

In response, Harry nodded just the barest amount. Hermione enclosed him a tight, yet gentle hug; her wild hair tickled his ear. “I’m sorry,” she gasped out, her eyes leaking salty tears. “I’m so sorry… I can’t believe I didn’t notice, I’m so, so sorry…” 

“It’s not your fault,” Neville said, rubbing Hermione’s shoulder a little bit awkwardly. 

“I’m sorry, this isn’t about me,” Hermione said, rubbing at her eyes with the edge of her robe. “Just… if there’s anything that you need… tell me, okay?” 

Parvati took a few gasping breaths, rubbing at her eyes. “I… _Harry_ ,” she said. “I- I’m-” for once, the normally talkative Parvati appeared to be speechless. 

“Do you want a hug, too?” Harry offered shyly, purposely phrasing the question so it sounded like he was offering, not asking.

Parvati hurried over and gave him a tight hug; Harry could feel himself relaxing at the familiar smell of the oil she used in her hair. 

“Mate…” Ron said, “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to…” 

“I know,” Harry said, wiping at his eyes. “Some of the teachers found out. I told them all about… all of that stuff, in there, it’s probably the stuff I told the teachers and the aurors.” 

“I’m so, so proud of you,” Hermione told him, pulling him into a tight hug. 

“That was really brave,” Neville said seriously. “That was really, really brave.” Neville smiled a little sadly. “I could never be as brave as you, Harry.” (A chill ran through Harry; was he implying- no, no, Harry was just misinterpreting…) 

He’d have to think about it later because now Padma was giving him a slightly awkward hug and asking him if he’d prefer for them to stay or just leave him alone. 

“Can you guys stay?” Harry asked. “But like- can we just talk about something else? Not the Chamber or anything, just something _normal_? Please?” 

“Ooo,” Parvati said with a grin, “There’s this girl in Gryffindor, Fay Dunbar, who really likes Quidditch and she’s like, _totally_ into Ron…” 

Ron blushed furiously and Parvati crowed with triumph. “You like her too, don’t you!” 

Fred and George walked Harry to his next class, blowing off his half-hearted protests that they would be late to their own classes. They turned that threatening, cold gaze Fred had used earlier on the students already there, and when the students seemed sufficiently cowed, the twins left. 

Harry slid into his seat next to Blaise and wished for death. 

At least in Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall’s presence kept anyone from really doing more than shoot him glances. In History, Tracey Davis slid a copy of the Daily Prophet over onto his desk. 

“Thanks,” Harry whispered. She nodded. “No problem.” 

By the end of History, he knew most of it by heart, and a few bits in particular stuck with him. _It is with sorrow and righteous anger that I, your intrepid reporter, must report these dark findings of mine,_ the article began. _As we all know, Harry Potter, at the tender age of one, vanquished He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Following this great feat, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore placed him in an undisclosed location for his own safety. Some speculated he had been placed with distant family in America or perhaps India. Maybe he was being raised by the Headmaster himself, or being trained by the most illustrious of wizards hidden in some corner of the world. But the truth is, Harry Potter was none of those places… Harry Potter lived instead with a family of muggles. Worst yet, a family of muggles who treated him worse than even a common house elf!_

_His uncle responded to this self defense with the indefensible act of **snapping** and later **burning** his wand…._

_locked in a cupboard in these conditions for six days…_

_escaped his cruel prison by a quite impressive feat of nonverbal magic…_

Harry stared at the paper, reading “Minister Cornelius Fudge to tour Azkaban Prison, more information on page three” over and over again without really understanding it. 

Malfoy stopped him outside of class before lunch. 

“I wanted to apologize,” Malfoy said formally. “I behaved in a manner childish and inappropriate to my stature as scion of House Malfoy.” He bowed with one hand vaguely across his chest, the other stretched out. “I did not realize your lack of manners is a result of your placement with muggles and not an intended slight,” he added, then winced slightly, like he regretted it. 

Harry just blinked for a moment, recalibrating, then responded, a little slowly, “I thank you for your apology, though I find it misplaced. That is not to say I thought your behavior acceptable, I merely think you would be better suited to apologize to my dear friend, Hermione Granger.” 

Harry watched in satisfaction as Malfoy paled slightly. 

“I will make an effort to become better aware of the manners of wizarding society,” Harry added after a bit, “as, I’m sure, will Hermione. Hermione also has no knowledge of wizarding formalities, yet most certainly would not wish to be rude or uninformed.” Harry smiled thinly. “She has already researched into the slurs various bigoted purebloods may level against her.” 

Malfoy’s eyebrows rose. “I confess myself surprised at your comment with regards to Miss Granger. I had not believed she cared for wizarding customs.” 

“Hermione is a highly intelligent person who has done much research into the Wizarding World. I have no doubt that she would be most receptive to learning more about her new home,” Harry said as politely as he could manage. 

Malfoy nodded, but looked very skeptical. “It is with this in mind that I wish to reintroduce myself, perhaps gain a second chance if you so allow it.” he hestitated, then stuck out his hand. “Draco Malfoy.” 

Harry hesitated, then shook his head. “I think I am already far too introduced to you and your beliefs. Until you can respect my friends, until you’ve apologized to Hermione for your blatant bigotry and disrespect, I’m not interested. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like some lunch.” 

Harry didn’t have time for Malfoy’s schemes. Not when he had so much other stuff he needed to deal with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> urghhhh... sorry about this one, I know it's kind of choppy. Lots of interesting stuff going on...
> 
> Fred and George can be rather scary, I think. Especially if Harry is being threatened. 
> 
> Diagon Alley is, I think, more than just Diagon Alley itself. There's Knockturn Alley, after all, so why not Horizontal Alley too?
> 
> I wonder why Malfoy's acting so oddly. 
> 
> Plus, can you guys spot the foreshadowing for some interesting *jazz hands* other stuff?


	14. open up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets a strange first year, and the group tests the entrance of the chamber.

“Ssshow yourssself. Allow me entranccce to the Chamber. Let me in!” Harry shouted. “Open up, dammit!” He could feel a pressure building within him, a deadly cocktail of frustration, exhaustion and anger. “OPEN!” 

The mirrors shattered suddenly into a thousand glittering pieces, Harry flinching as they hit him. The pain seemed to shock him back to reality. Harry splashed his face with water and then set to repairing the bathroom. He had class starting soon… He felt like a ball of anxiety, some tightly coiled spring, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for people to start dropping like flies, waiting for the Heir to send the basilisk out on the hunt. 

Even if he found the Chamber, what could he do? He had no idea who the Heir was. He could tell Professor Sprout or something, but… Even if Aurors were called in, Harry doubted they had what was needed to fight a _basilisk_. And, if they did, they would probably just straight up kill Hhtchkk’sssh’khchhksshh, instead of defeating the Heir. 

Harry had checked all of the male bathrooms, and he was getting a bit discouraged. It was possible the entrance to the Chamber wasn’t actually in a bathroom- or maybe it was in one of the girl’s bathrooms. There were a lot of bathrooms at Hogwarts, including some only people in specific houses had access to. Even the teachers had their own private bathrooms. 

But Harry didn’t need to do all of the investigating and whatnot alone. He had friends with access to places that he didn’t, friends who could help him out. So, when they breaked for lunch, he headed over towards where he saw Padma. Ignoring how some of the Ravenclaws went quiet as if they’d been talking about him, he pulled Padma aside. 

“I need a favor,” he confessed quietly. “It’s got to do with the Chamber.”

“What do you need?” Padma asked. 

“I think the entrance is in a bathroom. Ss- my snake friend went down into it, by accident, and… it’s in a bathroom, I think. I checked all of the bathrooms I could, but I could only do the boys’ bathrooms. So… could you please maybe, with Parvati too if she’s up for it, check the girls’ bathrooms? The entrance has something to do with the sinks, they should move to reveal a tunnel. Just like, say stuff in Parseltongue and it should open, I think. Or… that might not work so just, uh, if you see something weird, tell me?” 

“Alright,” Padma said. 

“I think I can help you,” an odd, airy voice said from right by his ear. 

Harry flinched away in surprise. Standing behind him was a skinny girl, probably a first year, with long, wavy white hair, and a dreamy expression on her face. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you like that.” 

“What did you hear?” Padma said at last, in a low voice. 

“All of it,” the girl said simply. “Don’t worry, I don’t believe that anyone else did. I think I might know where the Cha-” 

“Can we do this outside?” Harry broke in, glancing around nervously. The Ravenclaw table seemed a bit too quiet, a bit too alert. Most of them were reading or at least pretending to, which was odd, as usually there were a few arguments about something obscure and weird. 

Hermione made eye contact and gave Harry a little encouraging nod towards the door, before loudly saying, “Water is wet, and I _dare_ you to argue otherwise.” She leveled a glare at her fellow claws. The table erupted into argument at once, and Harry, Padma and the strange girl slipped away in the resulting chaos. 

“I think I know where the entrance to the Chamber is,” the stranger explained, brushing a strand of wavy hair behind her ear and revealing what looked like a radish hanging from her ear. “Myrtle’s bathroom.” 

“Moaning Myrtle’s place?” Padma asked slowly. 

The stranger nodded. “She died after seeing a pair of big yellow eyes and hearing a hissing,” the stranger explained. “And one of the sinks there has a snake scratched into the tap.” 

“She told you how she died?” Harry asked in confusion.

The stranger nodded again, serenely. “Ghosts celebrate their deathdays much like humans celebrate their birthdays,” she explained. “They consider unlife to be a great gift worthy of celebration, and love to tell the stories of their deaths, much like humans enjoy telling stories about births.” 

“Okay…” Harry said slowly, more than a bit weirded out. Then it hit him. “What? Does this mean the Chamber’s been open before?”

The stranger hummed in agreement. “I guess it must,” she said rather dreamily, then, after a moment, rather less mystically, “the Chamber’s open?” 

Padma and Harry shared a glance, and then Harry said, “how about you come and meet us in the library after class.” 

The stranger found not just Padma and Harry in the library, but also the rest of the group as well. (“I think this is the twins’ first time in a library,” Ron joked.)

“You’ve got loads of Blubbering Humdingers,” the stranger remarked worriedly to Neville. “Even more than Harry does. You may want that checked out.” 

“Uh- okay,” Neville said awkwardly. 

“Blubbering Humdingers?” Hermione asked. “What are, um, what are they?” 

“Parasitic creatures who breed negativity,” the stranger explained, “They hover around and gnaw on people’s auras. Quite nasty things, in all honesty.” She shuddered slightly. “They’re invisible to most people, however, which is probably for the best considering their appearance.” 

Parvati looked at the stranger with interest and started to question her further, but Fred cut right to the chase, saying, “Who’re you?” 

“I’m Luna, Luna Lovegood,” the stranger said. 

The group introduced themselves one by one, and then Fred asked, “Harry said you know where the entrance to the Chamber is.” 

“Myrtle’s bathroom. The third sink, with the snake,” Luna said. “Myrtle was killed when it was opened before.” 

“Wait, it’s been opened before?” Parvati gasped. 

“They probably covered it up,” Ron said grimly. “Tried to make everyone forget about it.” 

“Did Moaning Myrtle see who did it? She had to have, right- unless the basilisk was alone-” Parvati asked, fiddling with her pink butterfly pin. Luna shook her head. “Not that she told me.” 

“If someone opened it, then they had to have closed it, too,” Harry said slowly. 

“-so we just need to replicate the conditions that caused them to close it,” Hermione finished. 

“I thought back and forth talking was me and Gred’s thing,” George joked. 

“At least it’s not me and Padma, I would hate that,” Parvati said. “She doesn’t talk nearly fast enough to do it, anyhow. You need to step up your game, Paddy.” Parvati rather maturely stuck her tongue out at her sister.

“And,” Hermione continued, ignoring the antics around her, “it’s probably either the original Heir or their descendant, depending on when the Chamber was opened before. I don’t think there are a ton of Parselmouths, so…” 

“I think it’s Voldemort,” Harry blurted out, causing everyone to fall silent.

“Don’t say the name,” Neville hissed instinctively, and Harry winced. “Sorry. Um- yeah, I think it’s… You-Know-Who.

“I didn’t mention it to you guys, but, um, Dumbledore didn’t think I permanently defeated… _him_ after the thing with the Stone. He said something about how we would have to just keep on defeating him over and over again, preventing his rise to power again.” 

“Seriously?” Parvati asked in a choked voice. “He’s just going to keep- fucking- coming back?” Hearing the swear word falling from Parvati’s lip gloss covered lips made the situation seem dark and grim, even more serious.

“I really shouldn’t have told you guys that, should I,” Harry sighed. 

“No,” Hermione said firmly. “I’m glad you told us. We… I’m glad you trusted us with that.” 

“Voldemort was possessing Quirrell,” Harry explained to Luna and the Weasley twins. “The Philosopher’s Stone… he tried to steal it. I… I stopped him.” He grimaced. “Barely. Through sheer dumb luck. He was drinking the blood of unicorns to sustain himself until he could get the Stone. So… I think the basilisk, or something in the Chamber, is supposed to bring him back to life. He’s starting to possess the basilisk a bit, I think, but he’s probably possessing someone else in addition to that, because he would need to possess someone to open the chamber in the first place, if that makes sense.” 

“We should tell Professor Sprout,” Hermione said. 

“Yeah,” Harry admitted with a sigh. “I’m worried, though. I feel like they would probably just send Aurors down into the Chamber to try to kill the basilisk, instead of finding out who was being possessed. I just…” 

“Not without your help,” George pointed out suddenly. 

“Parselmouths are rare-” 

“-like really rare. And the Chamber can only be opened-” 

“-if you speak Parseltongue. So, they’d need either Padma, Parvati or Harry’s help.” 

“I’m not sure about that,” Harry said slowly. “But if it is true, then…” He smiled slightly, feeling hopeful about this whole thing for the first time in a long time. 

“Let’s go check,” Luna suggested. 

The group headed out of the library, Parvati falling into step with Luna and beginning to ask about Blubbering Humdingers. 

“Oh, you’ve got the least of anyone I know,” Luna was assuring Parvati cheerfully when they reached their destination. “It’s really quite refreshing, honestly, seeing such a healthy aura when most are at least a little bit nibbled on. Harry and Neville should ask you for help keeping them away.” 

“We’re here!” Hermione announced, nodding to a door with an Out of Order sign on it. There was a moment of quiet where nobody moved, and then Luna practically skipped up and went on in. 

Ron was about to go in when he stopped abruptly. “Wait- this is a girl’s bathroom, isn’t it,” he said slowly, a flush spreading across his face. 

“There won’t be anyone in there,” Hermione said, following Parvati inside. “C’mon Neville, Harry.” The twins had already went in. 

“Don’t be wimps about it!” Parvati called from inside. Harry could hear the teasing smile from her voice, so after a split second hesitation, he joined them inside. 

The basic layout didn’t look different from the boys’ bathrooms; the most defining thing about the bathroom was how dirty and gloomy it was. The wooden stall doors were scratched and flaking, the mirror cracked and spotted, the sinks chipped. 

“This is my friend Myrtle,” Luna said, gesturing to a floating girl who appeared to made out of silvery partially see through stuff. “Myrtle, these people are here to see if they can open the Chamber. They’re trying to make sure that the Heir doesn’t kill anyone else.” 

Myrtle picked at a pimple on her face thoughtfully, then glanced towards the boys, and whined, “Do they _really_ need to be here? They’re boys, and this is a girl’s bathroom, after all.” 

“I told you that this was a bad idea,” Ron said, and made for the door, Neville following after him. 

“I think I’d better stay,” Harry told Myrtle apologetically. “See, I’m the one who’s going to be opening the Chamber. Unless Parvati or Padma remember enough Parseltongue to do it.” 

“I think you’d better stay,” Padma said, shaking her head. “I remember some, of course, but we don’t know what the word will be, and, well... you’ve got much better pronunciation than me or Padma.” 

“Please, Myrtle dearest,” George began sweeping into a low bow, 

“We merely wish to witness this most monumentous ocassion with our own four eyes,” 

“And then we shall leave you be,” George finished. 

“Fine, I suppose you can stay,” Myrtle said graciously with a wave of her hand. “Now, get on with it, why don’t you?” 

“I’ve never seen her so good natured in my life,” Hermione whispered to Padma. 

“I heard that!” Myrtle howled, beginning to sob. “I wish people would stop talking behind my back, it’s so cruel!” 

“You should probably apologize,” Luna advised from where she was inspecting the third sink with interest. 

“Um- sorry, Myrtle,” Hermione attempted. “I won’t say anything out of turn again.” 

Myrtle continued sobbing, rubbing at her eyes. “You’d better not! That was very cruel, very cruel indeed…” 

“Harry?” Padma nodded to the sink. 

“Look, it’s even got the little snake I told you about scratched into it,” Luna said, pointing out one of the taps.

“Alright,” Harry said rather anxiously. He’d never spoken Parseltongue in front of so many people before. He took a deep breath, focusing on the feeling he got when talking to a snake. “Open up.” 

The tap started to glow and spin around and around, and then the sink moved out of sight, leaving only a huge pipe, dark and ominous, large enough for a man to slid down. It reminded Harry uncomfortably of the drop under the trapdoor. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. 

A cool hand squeezed his own and he glanced over to see Luna smiling comfortingly over at him. (Harry wished he could say she was smiling up at him, but well, Harry was her height, maybe even a bit shorter, which was… kind of pathetic to be honest.) 

“Well,” Parvati said at last. “That’s certainly something!” 

“Can you try to shut it up again?” Hermione asked a bit anxiously. “And then- you should see if it’s just Parseltongue in general, or just that specific phrase.” 

“Right,” Harry mumbled. “Um. Clossse up.” 

The sink moved back to cover the hole, the tap twisting back in the opposite direction as it had originally moved, so it looked just as it had before, and they could almost pretend it was normal, and there was no entrance to the Chamber of Secrets hidden under there. 

“Hello,” Harry said in Parseltongue, then waited a beat. Nothing happened. 

“Hello,” Padma said in Parseltongue. “Hello, sssir. Good to meet you. He’sss an enemy. I am a friend.” She devolved into a sort of mangled hissing noise, then took a breath and tried again. “My name is Padma. I will give you food if you bite him.” She smiled sheepishly. “That’s all I can remember off of the top of my head.” 

“That’s better than me,” Parvati grumbled. “All I can remember right now is ‘don’t bite me’.” 

Harry laughed. “That’s a very useful phrase, though. If you want to be polite about it though, you should say, ‘don’t bite me, I have ssstandardsss and you don’t meet them’ or something like that.” 

“First of all,” Parvati said, “that’s way too long for me to learn just like-” she snapped her fingers, “second of all, I do not believe you when you said that that was the ‘polite’ way.” 

“I am not a ssspeaker, but my friend who is vouchesss for me,” Hermione said with a grin. “YES! I’ve still got it!” 

“I am not a ssspeaker, but my friend who is vouchesss for me,” Padma replied. 

The entire room started repeating the phrase over and over again as a way of practicing, even Luna starting to get it after a while. 

“Well,” Hermione said at last, “I think we’ve confirmed it opens up to only a specific phrase, and not just Parseltongue in general. I think we’re good to go.” 

The group headed out. Parvati started cheerily explaining what had happened to Neville and Ron, with commentary from Luna. Hermione was talking quietly to Padma about the research she’d need to do to figure out the circumstances of the previous opening of the Chamber of Secrets, and how she’d need to tell Professor Sprout. 

Ron, Padma, Parvati and Hermione left, but the others lingered, Harry pulling Neville aside, and Fred and George doing the same thing with Luna. 

“Don’t tell anyone what you’ve heard,” George warned Luna. “Not that we think you would, but, well, better to be safe than sorry.” 

“You’ll be in danger of something far worse than harmless pranking if you do,” Fred agreed.

Luna nodded calmly, as if being threatened by two twins with Chesire cat grins was a normal occurence, and was off. 

The twins each gave Harry a two fingered salute, George reminding him, “We’ll give anyone who bugs you about the article Weasley red hair.” 

“-Or big Weasley red spots, since they don’t deserve to have our beautiful locks,” Fred preened. 

Once they’d left, Harry turned to Neville. “Um, Neville,” Harry said awkwardly, “I- uh- just wanted to tell you that I think you’re really brave. I obviously don’t know what’s going on in your, uh, home life, but if you wanna talk to me about it, um, I’m here.” Harry shrugged quickly. 

“Thanks, Harry,” Neville said softly, face burning. “I- you really shouldn’t be offering that, you’re the one who… it’s not as bad as it is for you, I don’t… I don’t _really_ need help- it’s… yeah…” 

“You know what I thought before people starting finding out?” Harry asked with a wry, humorless grin. “I thought, this isn’t that bad. It doesn’t really qualify as-” Harry swallowed, “ab- _abuse_ , that’s when, like, you’re getting beat every week and you’ve got belt buckle scars all up and down your back or something like that. I thought, you know, it’s fine. I don’t really need help.” 

Neville gaped at Harry. “But they- they didn’t feed you, and- the cupboard…” 

Harry shrugged. “I figured it wasn’t that bad.” He licked his lips nervously. “I was… I was wrong. I should have said something a long time ago. It’s weird, seeing everyone so upset about it, because… I was okay with it, or- or pretending to be, for a long time. But… if you tell someone about what happened and it’s no big deal, then, no harm done, right? But if you tell someone and they say, that’s wrong, they did something wrong, then, well…” he shrugged again, awkwardly. 

“I don’t know if I could do it,” Neville said weakly. “I- I’m not brave, like you…” 

They were quiet for a long time, and then Harry said, “maybe I am a bit brave, but- i was backed into a corner. They already knew something was going on. So I just told them, partially out of just- frustration. It wasn’t my choice. But Neville, you can do that. You can choose to tell Professor McGonagall. You can choose to be braver than me.” 

“I’m not a real Gryffindor,” Neville said very softly, like he didn’t expect Harry to hear. 

“People say I’m not a real Slytherin,” Harry said at last. “People think I belong in Gryffindor.” he shrugged awkwardly. “I guess because I’m the- the Boy-Who-Lived, or somethin’. I don’t really know why they think it. When I, when I um, went and got Sorted, I wanted to go to Hufflepuff.” Harry’s slight smile turned sad. “I thought I’d have the most chance of making friends in Hufflepuff, you know.” Harry took a deep breath. “The hat heard me thinking about friends and suggested Gryffindor, very briefly. Then just as quickly, the hat said, ‘No, that’s all wrong’. I don’t know why, but… um… I trust the hat. More than I trust the people who say I belong in Gryffindor. The hat can see inside your head. It’s magical, it’s been sorting for a really long time. I think it knows what it’s doing.

“That was long and kind of ramble-y, but, um, the hat put you in Gryffindor, which means that’s where you belong. You’re a Gryffindor, not a Hufflepuff or a Ravenclaw or a Slytherin. That means that the hat thinks that you’re- you’re brave, and chivalrous. And I’m inclined to agree.” 

Neville smiled shyly back. “Thanks, Harry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I’d like some meat,” Harry told the house elves. “Completely raw. I’d like it to go, please, and in something so that it doesn’t get on my robes.” 
> 
> Carrying the meat the house elves had given Harry, he headed into Myrtle’s bathroom, making sure the Invisibility Cloak was completely covering him the entire time. Then he locked the door and pulled off the cloak, before turning to the sink. “Open up,” he hissed. 
> 
> Harry sent one piece of meat whizzing down through the pipes at a time, watching as they disappeared around a bend far below. They would probably be slimy before they reached the bottom, Harry reflected sadly. But at least Hhtchkk’sssh’khchhk’sl’llsss’ssii’kkhhh would get to eat something other than rats to eat. 
> 
> “I’ll do my bessst to help you,” Harry promised in a whisper, sending the last piece down. “Next time, I’ll find a way to bring you more.”


	15. overview of the chessboard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets with his lawyers. They help him make some plans.

Harry cautiously entered the room, every inch of him taut and nervous. He knew that they were just lawyers, that they were supposed to be working for him, but, well… lawyers seemed intimidating. They’d usually seemed either slippery and conniving, or sharp, incredibly intelligent and dangerously good with words. Neither option exactly seemed _comforting_ or _kind_. 

At least the lawyers didn’t _look_ very intimidating. There were two of them, a woman and a man, both of them looking oddly familiar. The man was wearing a modern, sharply tailored set of dress robes, with a long coat on over them. He had warm, kind looking brown eyes and slightly curly honey colored hair. The woman was dressed in elegant green dress robes, her legs neatly crossed to show off her kitten heels. Her chocolate brown hair was pulled back into a sort of thick chignon that somehow looked effortless and beautiful at the same time. 

Both of the lawyers stood when Harry entered the room. The man bowed slightly, and the woman performed a similar curtsey. 

“Good to meet you, Mr. Potter,” the woman said. “I am Andromeda Tonks.” 

“Tonks?” Harry asked as he absently shook the woman’s hand. 

“A bit of an odd name, I know,” the man said. “I’m Ted Tonks.” Harry nodded, shaking the man’s hand. 

“That's not it, it's- um- I think I might know your daughter,” Harry blurted out. “Nymphadora Tonks?” 

“That’s our daughter,” Ted Tonks confirmed, eyebrows rising in surprise. 

“Do I need to get new lawyers?” Harry asked. “Does that count as- as a conflict of interest?” He only remembered the term conflict of interest from a TV show Aunt Petunia had used to like to watch sometimes, and he wasn't precisely sure how they worked.

“It does not,” Mr. Tonks confirmed, then added, “We will of course keep our relationship with you as professional as you wish for it to be.” 

“Oh, um, okay,” Harry said after a few minutes. “Yeah- I just-” he stopped sputtering and sighed, and, mercifully, Ms. Tonks changed the subject. 

“Please take a seat,” Ms. Tonks said with a gesture to a padded, comfortable looking chair. “How do you take your tea?” 

“No milk, one sugar,” Harry said, sitting down and keeping his back as straight and upright as he could make it. 

Ms. Tonks made her tea with incredible grace, each movement perfectly precise and fluid. Harry couldn’t help watching in fascination. Meanwhile, Mr. Tonks pulled out a pad of paper and a muggle fountain pen, seemingly preparing to take notes. 

Once all three of them were furnished with tea, Ms. Tonks got down to business. 

“The case itself should be very open and shut, and I don’t believe that we’ll have any trouble there,” Ms. Tonks said. “What we really want to talk to you about is after the case, as well as some other legal matters that should have really been addressed a long time ago."

“Before we get into it,” Mr. Tonks broke in, “I think there’s something explaining we may need to do. The Wizengamont serves as wizarding Britain’s high court of law, as well as being our parliament. Wizengamont seats are inherited; if there isn’t anyone who can inherit the seat, or the group cannot pay the dues for the seat, the seat becomes inactive. In rare circumstances, new seats are created and given to those who have done something particularly exceptional, although this has become almost unheard of. Additionally, seats have historically been sold when the dues on the seat become too heavy a burden, although in recent decades families with seats have carefully hoarded them. 

“At this time, there are fifty seven active seats. Several members of the Wizengamont at this time have more than one seat due to the various circumstances I have already outlined. Each seat gives the right for one vote; thus, the more seats you own, the more weight your voice holds. There are two Potter seats, or more accurately, one Potter seat and one Perevell seat, which are held by the Potter line.”

“One of the highest holders of seats at this time is Lucius Malfoy, who holds six seats and also has many allies within the Wizengamont,” Ms. Tonks spoke up. “It is generally assumed within the Wizengamont that the Weasleys will be campaigning for your adoption. The Wizengamont, being comprised almost entirely of prominent purebloods from ancient families, would not like to place the Boy-Who-Lived with so called ‘blood traitors’. At this time, my sources tell me that members of the Wizengamont are covertly negotiating to arrange that you will be adopted by one such family.

“Usually, the Malfoys would be able to secure custody. However, since the acqusition of the Black seats through his marriage to Narcissa Black-Malfoy, the political landscape has shifted. Even Mr. Malfoy’s allies would prefer to prevent him from gaining power, and the adoption of Harry Potter is perceived as the acquisition of the two Potter seats.

“I believe that the Malfoy voting bloc will be supporting the Greengrasses in a bid for adoption. The Greengrasses have a single seat, but are a prominent, popular and quite rich family. They were neutral in the past war, but have voted conservatively in the past, and do not appear to have high opinions of muggleborns.” 

Ms. Tonks, seemingly done explaining, reached for her tea. 

“Wouldn't having inherited seats create a... make change really really difficult?" Harry asked. 

“Indeed,” Ms. Tonks said wryly. "There has been remarkably little change in the political landscape of wizarding Britain for centuries." 

There were a few minutes of quiet. 

“So let me get this straight,” Harry said slowly, “Adopting the Boy-Who-Lived is the newest pureblood trend?” 

“You have the potential to be a very powerful political figure,” Ms. Tonks explained. “You are an icon. A potential rallying point; the symbol of the new generation following the War. The pureblood community would like to see you join them; they want to make sure you are raised properly, with full knowledge and respect for traditional wizarding customs.”

“So it’s not really about me,” Harry confirmed. “The only ones who are looking to adopt Harry Potter, not _Harry Potter_ , the Boy Who Lived, are the Weasleys.” 

“Correct,” Ms. Tonks said. “However, you do have other relatives who I do not believe are currently aware of the situation, who you could contact and ask about adoption.” 

Mr. Tonks pulled some papers out of his binder and slid them over to Harry. Harry skimmed through a paper talking about the Anands in India, then another about two elderly witches in France, and the Potters off in America. He also read up on a muggle named Austin Potter, who was a stereotypical starving University student and working on something called the World Wide Web. 

“No one in Britain, except for the muggle,” Harry remarked, and then quietly, “I could never ask a University student to take care of me…” He could never try to shove himself off onto _any_ of these distant relatives. He should try to go with the Weasleys, because he knew for certain that they wanted him. He quickly changed the subject, saying, “What can we do to make sure the Weasleys are the ones to adopt me?” Harry asked. 

“Mostly it’s going to be about publicity,” Ms. Tonks said. “Even the more Light side voters are likely to be swayed to voting for the Greengrasses by two concerns. One, that the Weasleys do not have sufficient money to provide for you. Two, that you will not have full knowledge and respect of wizarding traditions. 

“You’re going to want to alleviate these concerns, show that you’re respectful and knowledgeable of wizarding traditions, that money should not be a factor in this decision. I would suggest working on this by publicly reading books such as these.” With an elegant little flick of her wand, several books flew down from the shelves and stacked themselves in front of Harry. Harry read the titles, of which there were three- Prop’r Wixxen Etiquette, The History and Correct Celebration of Magical Holidays, and A Briefeth Hist’ry of Wixarding Britannica. 

“These two books are rather old, although I think still readable,” Ms. Tonks said. “The etiquette listed in this book is now only used in formal situations, and is slightly different, but we have annotated the book to explain those differences.”

“It’s the most recent comprehensive book of wizarding etiquette we could find,” Mr. Tonks said a bit wryly. “The history of wizarding Britain book is also rather old, but considering the state of history education at Hogwarts, we thought it worth including.” 

“We want you to read those in the Slytherin Common Room, and out in the Great Hall. Don’t be too obvious you want people to notice, but don’t try to be subtle about it, either.” 

Harry nodded. “What about the concerns with regards to money?” 

“We want you to do an interview,” Ms. Tonks said. 

“Nope,” Harry said at once. “Any other options?” 

“It doesn’t have to be with anyone from the Prophet,” Ms. Tonks said. “The wizarding world isn't just interested in you on a national level but also an international level. I know a newspaper in America with a wonderful editor who would write things up perfectly.” 

Harry looked at the tea left in his cup. “Wizarding Britain seems… possessive. Are you sure they would be alright with that? Giving the first interview of their national icon to an outside group?"” 

"Very perceptive," Ms. Tonks praised him, and Harry flushed. “This move will make them more possessive, but we can use that to our advantage. They’d want to make sure that you stay right here, in Britain, where they want you. Flirting with internationality might make them more likely to bend to your whims.” 

Harry sighed. “I… alright, but only if you brief me on what to say beforehand.” 

Mr. Tonks made a note in his pad, and Ms. Tonks nodded. 

“There’s also the matter of the Potter seats,” Ms. Tonks said. “They are… technically active, as the money is being paid from the Potter vault, but there is no one voting using them. As you are a minor, you would not be able to vote on the seats; you need to choose a representative who can vote according to your interests.” 

Harry sighed and tried to think of responsible adult people who could do voting stuff. He thought of Hermione, and then Percy, but Hermione was _twelve_ and- Percy was smart, he was organized, he was ambitious but also, what, fifteen?

“I know someone,” Harry said slowly, “But he’s too young right now, and I don’t know if he’d want it. I’ll ask him about it, but in the meantime…” He licked his lips anxiously. “Maybe, um, one of you guys could represent me? Or something?” He crumpled. “Sorry, I know you’re busy…” 

Mr. and Ms. Tonks exchanged glances. “We’ll get back to you,” Mr. Tonks told him, adding another note to his pad.

The conversation moved on. Mr. and Ms. Tonks asked about how, exactly, he wanted them to frame the case, what kind of things he was comfortable talking about in the interview, those sort of questions. The biscuits Mr. Tonks said he’d cooked were really good. 

At the end of the session, Harry shook both of their hands again, thanking them for their time and assistance. 

“Our pleasure,” Mr. Tonks said with another slight bow. “Remember your books.” 

Harry picked up the three books, and moved to leave, then hesitated. “D’you- um, do you think I could get the addresses for my relatives?” 

“Of course!” Mr. Tonks said. “Be careful with Austin Potter, though- he’s not authorized to know about magic, so you’d better use the post instead of an owl.” He handed Harry a piece of paper ripped out from his pad, with four addresses written down. “I only wrote one each for the Anand family, and one for the American Potter family,” he explained as he handed it over. 

“Thank you,” Harry said, tucking the bit of paper carefully into one of the books. “I’ll- um, be seeing you.” He gave them a little nod of his head and left. Professor Snape was waiting to take him back to Hogwarts outside, the book on Potions tucked away the moment the door to the office started to creak open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole inherited seats is more fanonical than canonical, but considering how stagnant wizarding society (or at least British wizarding society) is, it seems more likely than having, you know, actual elected officials. 
> 
> Just like the thing with Luna, I did not expect the Tonks to pop up. It just kind of happened. But like, it makes sense, to me at least, because you know, Andromeda's got all of these laws pounded into her head from a young age, she's got the Slytherin pureblood thing going on, and Ted is a hard worker, smart, and, well, I think muggleborns would be really good at picking loopholes out of old laws, because of the fresh point of view.
> 
> Andromeda Tonks/Black is so underrated I can't even afloquerlkJF:LkuOL i need more Andromeda in my life
> 
> Ted is using a binder and fountain pen because he finds them handier than parchments and quills. He uses a combination of wizarding and muggle things, based on which is more efficient. In court, he has all of his notes transcribed onto parchment because it tends to weird out the purebloods, but if you think about it, binders? Non-quill pens? they're actually really useful.
> 
> Harry has no intention to ask his relatives to adopt him, but he is thinking about contacting them, just because he wants to interact with them.
> 
> edit: I was going to put an extra bit in the end notes but it was too long sooo you can check it out if you want to? idk?


	16. the weakest links

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some prep Harry needs to do for the trial. Also, other issues just keep on popping up.
> 
> trigger warning for an anxiety/panic attack.

The two weeks between Harry’s meeting with his lawyers and the Dursley’s trial ended up being pretty busy. 

On Monday Professor Snape, looking very annoyed, informed him that he was to come to his office immediately after class. Harry got really worried, and spent much of his remaining class time frantically wondering, _what did I do wrong_?

When Harry gingerly entered Professor Snape’s office, he saw that Andromeda Tonks was sitting in Professor Snape’s office. Andromeda Tonks took him to Diagon Alley for a robe fitting; she said he would need formal dress robes for his interview in America, as well as for testifying at the Dursley’s trial. 

Madam Malkin poked and prodded around at him quite a bit; evidently, dress robes were more tailored than regular robes, probably because regular school robes were supposed to have enough room to be used all year. 

“What style would you like?” Madam Malkin asked Ms. Tonks; she could sense who was really in charge here, obviously. 

“I’m thinking something simple, but elegant; he can’t pull off something too over the top. I’d like them in green, something to match his eyes.” 

Madam Malkin hummed in agreement, and returned to measuring all sorts of random things. 

After a while, Harry sort of zone outed, just moving his arms when Madam Malkin told him too. Thus, when Madam Malkin finally allowed Harry a look in the mirror, he was astounded at his outfit. 

Harry’s new dress robes looked similar to Mr. Tonks, in that they were tailored to be tight fitting, not loose and baggy like school robes. Where the school robes had buttons a good few inches down from the collarbone, the dress robes only had a few buttons, just enough to show a hint of white shirt, and the dark green, almost black tie that went along with rest of the outfit. That wasn’t all, either; Harry also had new shoes, shiny black leather boots with the barest hint of a heel, and the slightest point. 

“Wow,” Harry gasped. Despite his scruffy hair and glasses, he looked- old. Mature. Like a relatively competent human, unlike his usual self. 

“I’d suggest getting a tie pin as well,” Madam Malkin remarked, his lips twitching into a pleased smile at Harry’s reaction. “Perhaps a snake, to capitalize on the Slytherin theme you seem to be pushing.” 

“Just a silver one, I’d think,” Ms. Tonks replied. “Despite all our dramatics, we Slytherins appreciate a modicrum of subtlety, at times.” 

Madam Malkin laughed. 

The interview was the day after, after school. The interview was a woman with box braids in a big bun atop her head who wore elegant dark blue dress robes. Despite how intimidatingly put together she looked, she actually seemed reasonably nice. The questions could be a bit prodding at times, but she didn’t push too much, and she didn’t ask him to talk about the Dursleys, which was Harry was mostly worried about. The interview felt more like a conversation than the interrogation Harry imagined that it would be; she even asked about things that couldn't be used in the interview, like what Harry thought of Lord of the Rings.

Beyond the interview, there was tons of homework, quidditch practice, feeding the basilisk, self defense practice with his friends when they found times, and, well, he needed time to sleep, too. 

Hermione, who wasn’t too busy, continued to research, and managed to learn that the attack had been pinned on Hagrid and a gigantic Amortantula, a detail which lead the group to suspect the Heir had been someone with friends in high places, because there was no way such an obviously false story would pass otherwise. 

A week before the trial, there was a change. Threats traced out in blood, water puddling below it, a petrified cat. 

It was not a surprise, more of a relief really- the other shoe had finally, finally dropped. Hopefully, this would spur further action. Tonks had apparently found the perfect candidate to help Harry out with this whole fiasco, but as far as Harry knew had not yet persuaded the individual, and the teachers had made no visible progress- or even effort- towards finding the Heir. 

The writing on the wall had been discovered after dinner, when everyone had been heading back to their houses. The teachers scattered the students, but none of the Slytherins went to their dorm rooms. Everyone lingered in the common room, the older students settling into chairs, gathering by some unspoken decision. 

Harry stood by the wall, next to Tracey Davis. Malfoy had managed to score one of the seats, albeit a rather shitty one on the outskirts of the action; Pansy Parkinson was perched on the arm of his chair and Crabbe and Goyle stood behind him. 

“Would anyone like to step forward as Heir of Slytherin?” an older Slytherin wearing a prefect badge asked. She was sitting- _lounging_ more like, on the couch near the center of the room. 

“Gemma Farley, seventh year prefect.” Tracey Davis murmured. “The people she’s sitting with are the rest of the inner circle of Slytherin.” 

There was several seconds of dead silence, and then someone else spoke up. “Obviously, this so called ‘Heir of Slytherin’ is not a Slytherin. No true Slytherin would make such a blunt play,” the sixth year said, voice even and not overloud, but still carrying. 

“Arden Flume,” Tracey Davis said lowly. “Family’s got halfbloods and squibs married in here and there, but the family owns Honeydukes, along with some other hefty assets outside of the United Kingdom.” 

“Sometimes blunt plays are needed,” a sullen faced girl spoke up. “Especially when dealing with those in possession of particularly thick skulls, like the mudbloods and those blood traitor Gryffindors. A Slytherin understands these things.” She raked cool, stony eyes over Flume; Draco Malfoy and several others made noises of agreement, and a couple of vampire pale siblings with cruel sets to their faces clapped. 

“That’s Signe Ashcroft,” Tracey Davis noted, voice carefully empty. 

“Know something about living with a thick skull, do you, Ashcroft?” Flume asked idly. 

Ashcroft gave Flume an cursory look then her eyes flicked away in clear dismissal. 

Words were rising anxiously to Harry’s throat, explanations about was really going on, but he swallowed them back, eyes skipping across the room, waiting to see who would speak next. 

“Tying these threats to the title of Heir of Slytherins means as soon as the Heir actually lays claim to the title, they will be revealed as the one making those threats,” a dark haired boy spoke up. “Yet more so if the Heir spills blood, as they have implicitly promised. It- it doesn't make sense.” 

“Soren Bishop,” Tracey Davis told Harry. 

“This stinks of a Gryffindor,” a high cheek boned teen spat out. “It's like Bishop said. It's blunt, unsubtle. Gryffindorish. It's probably some mudblood determined to gain sympathy, to lower Slytherin’s stature within Hogwarts.” 

“As though a Gryffindor could think up such an intricate plan,” a fourth or fifth year in horn rimmed glasses spoke up dryly, causing some of the common room to laugh. "The blood on the walls? The petrified cat? You think a Gryffindor has the competency for a true petrification, one that won't melt away in a few hours?" 

“That’s a Penrose,” Tracey Davis said. “Can’t remember his first name, though.” 

“We should not allow ourselves to be associated with this so-called Heir of Slytherin,” Soren Bishop spoke up from where he was sitting with Gemma Farley. 

“So we support the mudbloods?” Signe Ashcroft asked coolly, raising an eyebrow. “So we align the House of Slytherin against what very well may be Salazar Slytherin’s heir?” 

“So we keep a neutral stance,” Soren Bishop replied. “So we present a united front, and protect our own.” Harry saw people around the room nodding. 

“That means,” Gemma Farley said, “no endorsements of the alleged Heir, only polite language regarding blood status…” 

“Yeah, yeah, we get it,” Penrose spoke up, “play nice.” There were a few chuckles, and someone jokingly whined, “But playing nice is so boriiiiing…” 

“That means you, Malfoy,” a fifth or sixth year with ebony dark curls spoke up. “Don’t think we didn’t hear you yelling ‘look out, mudbloods’ at the top of your lungs." Her lips curled slightly, derisively. "Could you be any less Slytherin?” 

“Who’s she?” Harry asked in a low voice, watching as Malfoy puffed up defensively. 

“Niore Oleander. Not one of the Sacred Twenty-eight, but her dad’s on the Wizengamont, and I hear she’s really smart.” 

“In addition to just general politeness, I think it would be prudent to have the House team… ah, follow the spirit of the rules in addition to the letter of them,” Gemma Farley suggested delicately. 

Marcus Flint opened his mouth to say something, but Gemma Farley wasn’t done yet. “The Gryffindor team has no real seeker to speak of, we’ve got top of the line racing brooms, and the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff teams were never really threats to begin with. Bending the rules wouldn’t just be unnecessary, it would undercut our real skill here. We should show off that Slytherin can and will win even when allowing the other teams extra slack.” 

There was some applause and even a few wolf whistles at those words. Marcus nodded, smirking slightly.

“If you’re having difficulties, consider really beating your weakest links into proper shape,” Niore Oleander said, eyes flicking to Malfoy, and then, much more briefly, to Harry, who flushed. 

“Harsh,” Penrose grinned, looking at Harry appraisingly. Harry flushed even further. 

“Don’t worry,” Marcus Flint replied, smirk widening. “When I’m done, even the weakest of links will be stronger than the best player from any of the other House teams.” 

Malfoy looked oddly nervous, Harry thought, for someone who thought he was so good at Quidditch.

“Any further questions or concerns?” Gemma Farley asked. 

After several seconds of quiet, Gemma Farley nodded. “Thank you for your time.” The gathering began to disperse. 

There were a few days of relative normality, wherein the most interesting thing were all the whisperings and rumors flying around, and then, because Harry’s life sucked, Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban. 

Harry was eating his breakfast, half asleep and very tired and basically, already in a bad mood, when the hall all went quiet and he saw people starting to eye him. _What the fuck did she write now_ , Harry thought furiously, aggressively shoving his piece of toast into his mouth. 

Tracey slid the newspaper (if you could call that trash fire a newspaper) over. 

SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES AZKABAN, the headline screamed. 

“Your godfather,” she said lowly. “He betrayed your parents to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.” 

Harry stared blankly at the paper. Thoughts rushed past him in nearly incomprehensible streams; he was thinking everything and nothing at once. He could feel white hot rage burning within him- at the universe, because this was just _too fucking much_ , or at this _piece of motherfucking shit who had singlehandedly killed his parents and left him with those human turds the Dursleys, fucking betrayed his parents, his fucking godfather, what the fuck_. 

Maybe it was partially just because it was _too early for any of this shit. And- fuck- how had no one told him about his lovely murderous godfather before?_

 _Hey quick question_ , Harry thought more than a bit hysterically, _Do I have any_ other _fucking murderous relatives or family? And while we're on murder- what’s the legality of brutally murdering absolute fucking scum of the earth assholes? Would that make the purebloods more or less inclined to adopt me? Is revenge killing something appealing to purebloods looking to adopt political symbols? Would killing Sirius Black get the Greengrasses to keep from going for custody?_

 _And- why the fucking fuck is it always at breakfast?_ Harry’s internal monologue continued. _Can’t it be like, somewhere where the entire fucking school isn’t watching me? Or could we just not fucking do this because I am fucking done, fuck this fuck this I am DONE, fuck this shit fuck it I am DONE, I swear to fucking God, Merlin and the Four Founders, this was supposed to be the fucking normal year that last year was not, why the fuck does this always happen to me-_

Harry noticed that the Daily Prophet Tracey Davis had slid over was on fire. His accidental magic had always been kind of volatile (if it hadn’t been so much so maybe he would have a bit more meat on his bones, Harry thought bitterly) but this was a new low. 

“Sorry,” Harry managed, looking at the smoking paper. “I can pay you back for it.” 

“It’s fine,” Tracey said, working on putting the fire out with a spell. “Maybe you should go get some fresh air.” 

Harry stumbled out of the Great Hall and slid to a seat against one of the walls, trying to remember how normal people did the breathing thing. _Fuck, this is getting to be kind of a habit,_ Harry thought dizzily. _Anxiety attacks just outside the Great Hall because of something that fucking newspaper wrote. It isn't the first time and it sure as hell won't be the last, because next it would be- my fucking serial killer grandmother, or- some fucking shit, all the embarrassing stories from my fucking shit childhood or something, sprayed right out there on the fucking newspaper like no one fucking knows what the fuck privacy is, seriously, Harry just wants some **fucking** privacy. _

__

He’d managed to partially pull himself together when Fred and George found him. 

__

“Want any accomplices?” Fred asked with a feral humorless grin. 

__

“Only if you don’t mind getting a lot of blood on your clothes,” Harry said. That sentence didn’t make a ton of sense, but he was still working on doing the breathing thing, so whatever. "A bloodless death would be too kind." _Too fucking kind because my parents died a bloodless death but I've been living a blood drenched life and it all fucking goes back to that fucking- fucking- and is it a bloodless death if you're getting stabbed in the fucking back by the guy you made the godfather of your kid?_

__

“C’mon, we’re skipping, let’s go figure out the most painful way for him to go,” George said. _Probably by way of betrayal, because no matter how much blood I spill genuine betrayal is going to hurt more, nothing would be able to hurt the bastard as much has he had hurt my parents, but damn if I don't kind of want to try, see how close I can get,_ Harry thought

__

“Cool.” Harry forced himself to his feet, trying to contain the way he was shaking. He had Potions today; he was going to get so many detentions for skipping. He literally could not care less because all he could think about was how much he wanted to make S- the fucker, no, that's too kind, the motherfucking _scum of the earth_ hurt.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's short. Next week should be the trial (which honestly I have no idea how to write? hopefully it doesn't suck too much??) 
> 
> I also am going to post Harry's interview (in article form) as one of the extras in "all here, in your head"
> 
> I'm not sure if the twins are joking about helping kill Sirius Black... probably not very much joking at all, now that I think about it. The twins are ending up being... slightly terrifying with the potential to be, you know, *quite* terrifying (if anyone touches their lil bro Harry that is). I don't exactly think that Harry is joking, either. Good luck, Sirius. (And, later, well, good fucking luck, Peter) 
> 
> For all of the talk of Slytherin subtlety, I feel like a lot of Slytherins enjoy grandstanding at times. Sort of like a pickpocket, drawing attention to one thing so they can pick your pocket with the other hand.
> 
> Hopefully the Slytherin common room bit reads well.


	17. monologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial.

Ms. Tonks gently tugged the Sleekeazy laden comb through Harry’s hair, trying to make it at least a bit neater. 

Mr. Tonks flipped through his notes, reviewing everything one last time, then reached over and straightened Harry’s tie. “I think we’re all ready.” 

“Everything’s ready except this hair,” Ms Tonks said. “Do you know how to make it lie flat?” 

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled automatically. His hands were shaking, and he couldn’t seem to concentrate- his thoughts were quickly skipping ahead to the trial. He would be seeing the Dursleys again, he knew… 

“Ted?” Ms. Tonks prompted, glancing at Harry with a hint of- was that worry?

Mr. Tonks handed Harry a bottle. “Calming Draught.”

Harry took a grateful gulp; he could feel the knot in his stomach loosen, his shoulders falling out of their tense, rigid position. 

“I think that’s as good as we’re going to get your hair.” Ms. Tonks took her wand and pointed it Harry- Harry suppressing a flinch with effort- and murmured a spell. She then did the same thing to herself and Mr. Tonks. 

“We’re going to take the car,” Mr. Tonks said. 

“You have a car?” Harry asked in confusion. 

“Yup. 1965 Lincoln Continental my dad got me way back when I was barely more than a kid myself. It’s not really necessary what with Apparition and portkeys, but going on a drive is a fantastic way to unwind, and,” he grinned ruefully, “I could never sell it.”

“We figure the first time you Apparate shouldn’t be right before a trial, and our Floo connection is currently not working quite right,” Ms. Tonks explained. 

The car was a gorgeous looking classic convertible, long and low and gleaming; it was obvious Mr. Tonks kept in good condition. Mr. Tonks settled into the driver’s seat, Harry into the back seat, and Ms. Tonks into shotgun. 

Mr. Tonks was a good driver, not prone to the jerky starting and stopping, as well as hairpin turns, that had made Aunt Petunia a menace to ride with, or the road rage and aggressive style that had characterised riding with Uncle Vernon. 

“Mr. Weasley would love you,” Harry blurted out without thinking.

“Oh?” 

“He’s got an old car- a Ford Angelica- of his own,” Harry explained. 

Mr. Tonks chuckled. “So he _is_ the owner of that flying car.” 

“Uh, yeah. But he never meant for us to fly it.” 

“Tell me, what was it like?” Mr. Tonks asked curiously. “How did it operate? Do you know how he integrated the magic without causing the inner workings to malfunction?” 

“Uh, I don’t know much,” Harry hedged, “I didn’t fly it, that was Ron.” He started explaining what little he understood about the car. “...and the car seemed a little bit sentient, almost? Like, it got irritated when we ran into a tree.” 

“A common side effect of enchanting common objects,” Mr. Tonks assured Harry. 

“We’re here,” Ms. Tonks spoke up. 

It didn’t seem like the kind of place the entrance to the Ministry of Magic would be. It was shabby, trash strewn around the streets, with heavy graffiti. Harry raked his eyes across it, reading the tags, and noted with a sudden jolt in his chest that someone had tagged the wall with a red and gold lightning bolt in the exact shape of his scar. When Harry looked closer, he noted that under the lightning bolt it read, ‘f**k LV!!!’

Harry guessed that probably the aurors figured it was subtle enough no muggle would pick up what it really meant. He couldn’t help but wonder who the artist was. 

“Mr. Potter?” Ms. Tonks asked. 

“Sorry.” Harry hurried to catch up to the others. 

Apparently, you got into the Ministry by way of the battered looking red telephone booth, which was missing a couple of panes of glass, and even had a few burn marks on the curved roof. Harry and Ms. Tonks went first. They had to squish to fit in, and it wasn’t exactly comfortable. 

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.” 

“Lawyer Andromeda Misapinoa Tonks, with client Harry James Potter, here to testify at the Dursley v. Potter & Ministry trials.“

“Thank you. Visitors, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes.”

Two badges slid out of the metal chute for change. He handed the one reading Andromeda Tonks, Lawyer, over to Ms. Tonks and pinned the one reading Harry Potter, Trial Witness, to the front of his robes.

“Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium.” 

The telephone booth sunk into the floor, much like an lift descending. Once they were within the earth however, they didn’t get the luxury of a light, or shitty, bland music; there was only the darkness, and a grinding noise that made Harry rather nervous. 

The inside of the Ministry was quite a contrast to the grimey exterior; the dark wood flooring gleamed luxuriously, golden symbols contrasted against a peacock blue ceiling, and there were rows and rows of gilded fireplaces; wizards and witches entered from the left side, and exited on the right side. 

In the center of the hall was an extravagant fountain complete with golden statues in the center of the circular pool. The wizard, Harry noticed, was at the center, and the others were staring at the wizard and witch with something far too much like worship. 

Despite the opulent surroundings, none of the wizards and witches paid them any mind; they all looked half awake, and in need of several cups of coffee. Harry could kind of relate; even the pretty hall couldn’t distract him from the knot in his stomach, which had been steadily yanking tighter and tighter ever since Mr. Tonks had announced that they had arrived. 

Ms. Tonks pulled Harry aside from the rush of workers and cast a quick glamour over him, covering his scar, and making his eyes look like they were brown, instead of green. Then, they settled down at the fountain to wait for Mr. Tonks.

It was only a minute or two before he emerged, but it felt like longer to Harry, who had occupied his time counting all of the coins glittering at the bottom of the pool and trying to distract himself with the idea that wizards and witches evidently still believed in the whole ‘penny in the fountain for your wish to come true’ thing, and whether that meant it actually _would_ come true or they that were just prone to superstition as much as muggles were. 

The little group joined the line of people waiting to pass through security. The hassled looking wizard brushed a golden rod that was too long to be a wand past each person, weighed his wand with a set of scales that only had one dish, and then gave them each a receipt.

Apparently wizards and witches still used lifts, Harry noted around his hysterically panicked thoughts. He watched the swarm of memos hovering above his head rustle their wings.

They paused outside of the courtroom. Harry focused on breathing, trying to pretend like Mr. and Ms. Tonks couldn’t tell that he was two seconds from a full blown panic attack. Mr. Tonks handed him more calming draught and Harry let out a sigh of relief as he felt his lungs fill fully at long last. 

Harry entered the courtroom, and, trying to ignore all the eyes on him, settled into his seat. Mr. and Ms. Tonks settled into seats flanking him, which made him feel a tad bit better. Behind him, the purple robed Wizengamot members were whispering amongst themselves. 

Just as the clock struck the hour, Uncle Vernon entered with Aunt Petunia. The group was flanked by two Aurors, as though they thought they might try to run. Uncle Vernon looked so strange and out of place among all of the finery, and Aunt Petunia looked thin, washed out. It didn’t seem quite real, and Harry had a hard time looking at them. For once Uncle Vernon wasn’t red, blustering, but gray, the shade of oatmeal.

“The accused being present, let us begin,” the woman with the monocle said . “Are you ready?” she asked the scribe, who nodded. She banged her gavel, and then began. 

“Trial on the fifteenth of September, into child abuse and neglect committed against Harry James Potter, by Vernon Dursley, both residents of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.”

“Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the full and assembled Wizengamot of the United Kingdom. Court Scribe, Caedman Bardo. Witness for the defense, Petunia Dursley nee Evans. Lawyers Edward Tonks and Andromeda Misapinoa Tonks nee Black, representing Harry James Potter. Witnesses for the prosecution, Harry James Potter and Poppy Pomfrey.” The monocle wearing woman- Amelia Susan Bones- finished, then, her brow furrowed, “if the accused and witness to the defense would take their seats.” 

The aurors gestured to the black chair in the center of the room, which was covered in chains. After some prodding, Uncle Vernon settled into the chair; the chains immediately wrapped around him. After some similar prodding, Aunt Petunia sat down in her seat (which was a normal seat instead of something like Vernon’s) as well, instead of just hanging around. 

“The charges against the accused are as follows: that he provided his ward with inadequate food, shelter, clothing; that he knowingly attempted to endanger his ward’s magical abilities and in doing so threatened the safety of the Statue of Secrecy and the muggles living around him, that he destroyed his ward’s wand without the legal authority to do so, that he physically assaulted his ward, and that he leveled criminal threats against my client. Are there any opening statements from the prosecution?” 

Ms. Tonks stood. “Minister, Madam, honored gentlewizards and gentlewitches of the Wizengamot, we are here today to try the accused for one of the darkest and most deplorable crimes a man can commit- the mistreatment of a minor, his ward, someone who he should have raised, supported, _loved_. 

“Harry James Potter has sacrificed much and accomplished a most impressive feat, but he is not invulnerable. Just like every other child, he requires care- attention, support, discipline. In his most vulnerable time, as a mere child, he was neglected, _abused_ by those who should have loved him. 

“He has been betrayed by his world for this terrible transgression. This should have been stopped long ago- in fact, this monstrosity should have never been allowed to happen. But,” she said into the dead quiet of the room, “ _it has_. The only option now is to try to rectify the situation. To prevent this monster from ever being able to hurt the Boy-Who-Lived again. To ensure that the Boy-Who-Lived will spend the rest of his childhood in a safe, healthy environment where he will be supported instead of beaten down. Gentlewizards and gentlewitches of the jury, I trust you will make a sound choice.” She bowed slightly, and sat again. 

There were a few seconds of silence, and then Madam Bones spoke up.

“Any opening statements from the defense?” 

Uncle Vernon shook his head. He looked even paler and grayer than before.

“Then we shall begin. As is custom, the prosecution shall begin.” 

Harry stood and walked over to the witness chair. The walk felt like a marathon; Harry completely over thought his stride, all too aware that the Wizengamot was watching. He was glad to settle into the witness chair. 

“The prosecution has requested that their witness be dosed with Veritaserum to fully validate that he is speaking only the truth. The proposed dosage is three drops. The interrogators will not ask any questions not relating to the trial, and will display reasonable judgement over what private information is unnecessary for the trial. The responses while under Veritaserum will be recorded by the Court Scribe, and the records will be open to the public. Does the witness consent to be dosed under these terms?” 

“I do,” Harry spoke up, throat dry. Madam Bones gestured to an assistant; Harry opened his mouth and three cool drops of liquid hit Harry’s tongue. A sort of icy calm spread through him, and he felt himself disassociating like he sometimes did in a panic attack, his brain untethering from his body. 

“You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?” Madam Bones confirmed. 

“Yes,” Harry’s mouth said.

“What kind of attitude did Vernon Dursley have towards you?” Madam Bones asked. 

“He hated me,” Harry’s mouth said. “The very sight of me seemed to make him angry. Everything that went wrong, he blamed on me. He never called me by my name. He laughed when Dudley would bully me, and there was nothing he liked more than seeing me unhappy.” 

“What sort of food were you provided?” 

“Scraps,” Harry’s mouth said. “Often leftovers. I was given the burnt food, the overcooked food, the smallest and least tasty bits. I was never given sweets or junk food-”

“What do you mean by junk food?” 

“Junk food is a muggle term for crisps, crackers, that sort of thing. Salty snacks.” 

“What were you going to say about not being given sweets?” 

“I was never given sweets or junk food, except for once or twice, when Dudley thought the stuff he was given was inadequate. I got a cheap ice pop once, but only because the vendor assumed I wanted one, and Aunt Petunia didn’t talk fast enough, and another time I got part of a milkshake because Dudley wanted a knickerbocker glory instead, but other than that, nothing.” 

The questions regarding food continued for some time, until they moved onto shelter. Harry talked about his cupboard- it was a good thing his mind was unspooled from his head, or he probably would have choked on his words, speaking about it. Some part of him was vaguely aware of the Wizengamot gasping as he, dull-eyed and dead-voiced, described long days and nights locked into a tiny, dark space. 

After that, they talked about clothing- Harry’s lawyers showed some of Harry’s threadbare hand-me-downs as evidence. Harry’s voice continued, detailing how before Hogwarts, he had never had properly fitting clothes, how he had had to roll up the pants legs so he didn’t constantly trip, how Aunt Petunia had sometimes scolded him for his scruffy way of dress, when it was her who was giving him his clothes. 

Then they talked about how Uncle Vernon had spoken about magic. Ms. Tonks made an argument that Uncle Vernon had purposefully endangered Harry’s magic through his verbal abuse, as abusing magical children because of their magic could lead to the creation of the Obscurus, which were highly volatile and would have been difficult to conceal from muggles, as well as very, very dangerous. 

Harry had to be dosed with Veritaserum two more times. His throat grew so dry that he was croaking, so the assistant had to help Harry, who was still under Veritaserum, sip water so that he wouldn’t lose his voice. 

Harry spoke at length about the incident where Uncle Vernon had beaten him, broken and burnt his wand, and threatened to kill him. The Veritaserum caused him to blandly, matter of factly tell the Wizengamot about how Uncle Vernon had threatened to kill him slowly, painfully, if he hurt Dudley again, about how his wand had looked and smelled as it burned, about every punch and kick Uncle Vernon had landed, about how the blood from his nose had dripped down his face and stained his shirt so badly no one with common sense would ever use it again- but Harry did not have the luxury to throw it away.

“The floor is open for questions,” Madam Bones said at last. 

Several dings echoed around the chamber. 

“Lord Grimshaw Sinclair with a question for the witness for the prosecution,” Madam Bones announced. 

Lord Grimshaw Sinclair stood. “What sort of support did Vernon Dursley provide with regards to education?” 

“None,” Harry’s mouth said. “I went to public school. He never helped me with homework or anything like that. I was expected to maintain grades a good way’s beneath Dudley’s, and I was not given adequate time to finish my homework most of the time.” 

“Lord Darren Lionel, with a question for the prosecution.” 

“What did Uncle Vernon have to say about your parents? Were you told their story?” 

“I was told that my dad was a drunken fool and my mum, a drug addicted prostitute.” There were gasps around the chamber; even those who did not particularly appreciate James Potter in life were scandalized that a muggle would dare slander a prominent pureblood like that. “I was told that I was an accident, unwanted by my parents. I was told that my dad was driving while drunk, that he irresponsibly caused an accident, killing himself and my mother, and leaving me with my scar.” 

The chamber sat in scandalized silence for a second or two, and then there were the dings of more questions. The questions just kept coming, until the Veritaserum started to wear off. 

“In the interest of time and Mr. Potter’s continued health, we will not redose Mr. Potter,” Madam Bones spoke up. “Please ask all remaining questions you have now.” 

Once all of the remaining questions had been answered, Harry finally headed back to his regular seat, flopping back down and gratefully accepting the cup of water- laced with an energizing potion, Mr. Tonks whispered- that he was handed. 

Madam Pomfrey testified next. She brought up the rolls of parchment from Harry’s examinations, explaining what each part meant, talking about every bit of it. The courtroom grew chillier and chillier as she talked about the malnutrition that Harry experienced. 

“Make a note to have Marge Dursley brought to trial,” Madam Bones said, after Madam Pomfrey explained the dog bite. 

When the prosecution was finally, _finally_ done, Madam Bones turned to Vernon Dursley.

“The defense may now call up witnesses.”

Aunt Petunia nervously perched on the witness chair. “We took the boy in out of the goodness of our hearts, providing food, water, and shelter to him,” she said shrilly. “We may not have treated him quite like Dudley, but he was Lily’s child, not mine.”

“Do you contest Mr. Potter’s testimony?” Madam Bones asked a bit coldly.

Aunt Petunia swallowed nervously, her long throat bobbing. “The boy is a pathological liar. He lies to his teachers, to the neighbors- all sorts of tall tales! He can’t be trusted!”

“Mr. Potter was dosed with a potent truth serum that few can bypass, and that no minor has ever managed to even fight,” Madam Bones said. Her voice was straight ice at this point. “His testimony was rigorous and detailed. Even if he was able to bypass the truth serum, he would have to be beyond thorough to weave such a detailed tale. It is simply not credible to believe that Mr. Potter is lying.” She leaned forward slightly. “ _Do you contest his testimony?_ ”

Aunt Petunia turned pale and began to tremble in the witness chair. 

“THIS IS A FARCE!” Uncle Vernon bellowed suddenly. The chains tightened their grip around him as he swelled up in rage. “You have- no right to try us like this!” he blustered. “You- your kind has no right to do this!” 

“I assure you,” Madam Bones said, and nothing in the world could be icier than her voice was at that moment, “we have _every_ right.” 

“YOU FREAKS!” Uncle Vernon howled, the chains tightening almost as if to cut him in half. “FREAKS!” 

There were gasps and muttering around the chamber. 

“Aurors, please take Mr. Dursley to a holding cell. We will take a twenty minute recess, following which we shall vote.” Madam Bones banged the gavel again and the two Aurors took Uncle Vernon away. 

Harry allowed his head to fall to the desk, where he pillowed it with his arms and allowed his eyes to slip closed for a few minutes. He could hear Mr. and Ms. Tonks and a couple of other people, probably members of the Wizengamot, talking quietly behind him, but he couldn’t make himself pull his head out. 

“Tired?” A voice asked. 

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Harry said, forcing his head up. 

“I believe,” The voice said. It was the assistant who had helped him out. “Veritaserum is notoriously tiring on the body; I’m surprised you haven’t passed out yet.” 

“The water was laced with a potion for energy,” Harry mumbled. 

The assistant hummed. “Coffee?” 

“Thanks,” Harry accepted it gratefully, taking a big sip- and then winced. “God! That tastes like bitter dirt!” 

The assistant laughed. “You get used to it, I guess. Or maybe it’s a more adult taste.” 

“What’s it like working at the Ministry?” Harry asked, forcing down a few more sips.

The assistant shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I’m a third party consultant, a Potions journeyman that they called in to prescribe Veritaserum.” 

“Oh,” Harry said. 

“Yup.” The assistant grinned. “I’m Lorna Caton, by the way.” 

Harry shook her hand. 

“I gotta say, when I started consulting, I didn’t realize I would end up meeting Harry Potter.” 

Harry shrugged. “Thanks for the coffee,” he said, feeling his heart sink as he realized she was just interesting in meeting a celebrity. 

The twenty minute recess ended, and the Wizengamot reconvened. 

There was some discussion that Harry didn’t really follow as it was really just legalese, and then they all voted. 

“Vernon Dursley is unanimously found guilty of all charges,” Madam Bones announced. “For the crimes of endangering his ward’s magic, threatening the Statute of Secrecy and the safety of the muggles living around him, and the destruction of his ward’s wand without legal authority, he is given five years in Azkaban. He is sentenced to eight additional years in nonmagical prison for his other crimes, and his parental rights over Harry Potter have been terminated.” She peered down at Uncle Vernon, who had been dragged back after the reccess. There was a cold light in her eyes. “For his own safety, his advised not to interact with wizards and witches in the future. Take him away.” 

He was dragged out of the courtroom once again. 

“The Wizengamot will take a forty five minute lunch break, following which the Wizengamot will oversee the trial of Petunia Dursley v. Potter & Ministry. End of session.” She banged her gavel. 

They ate lunch in a private dining hall; Mr. and Ms. Tonks didn’t want any pictures to be taken of Harry at this time. The food was good, but Harry barely noticed it. 

Aunt Petunia’s trial was shorter than Uncle Vernon’s, and Harry didn’t have to testify nearly as long. She got a lighter sentence, although not by much. Harry was now considered a “Ward of Hogwarts”, which meant, according to Mr. and Ms. Tonks, that all of the staff of Hogwarts were expected to act as his guardians. It actually sounded pretty decent to Harry, who loved it at Hogwarts.

Before they left the courtroom, Mr. Tonks pulled out sunglasses for each of them, so that the camera flashes wouldn’t blind them, and people wouldn’t be able to pick up too much emotion. Ms. Tonks, in her cat eye sunglasses, with her kitten heels making that elegant click-clacking as she walked, was the epitome of weaponized beauty. 

“Thank you,” Harry said quietly, once they’d gotten past the cameras. All three of them knew it wasn’t for the sunglasses, which Mr. Tonks was letting Harry keep. Mr. and Ms. Tonks just nodded, because they were cool like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I researched cars for this, and god vintage cars? gorg, ten outta ten would drool over them again, I suddenly kind of want to buy a vintage car even though a) i’m not old enough to drive and b) don’t have the money
> 
> i suddenly want Sirius Black, Ted Tonks and Arthur Weasley as the ultimate Magical Mechanic BrosTM. 
> 
> ...also, kind of want to know about magical graffiti now. Like… graffiti near Diagon Alley, graffiti within Diagon Alley, wizards tagging the craziest shit because they can use magic to get to the riskiest places… anyone interested in writing something based on this, i will love you forever
> 
> Also? Just like Harry is wondering about the thing with the coins in the fountain, I am too. Are the wizards and witches who do that just donating? Or is it superstition, and the whole coins in a fountain thing isn’t just the muggles??? I need to know, y’all. 
> 
> How did i write the trial you ask? My sources are a) the disciplinary hearing in book five of canon, b) that play drama class did in middle school c) looking up crimes and sentencings in the UK on google d) the fanon ideas of how wizarding trials work even though there doesn’t seem to be fanon consensus? and most importantly, e) bullshitting my way through
> 
> Basically what i’m trying to say, if any of you guys love binge watching law shows and you’re just tssking at your computer screen and saying, “what is this bullshittery?” hit me up in the comments section


	18. bludgeoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry plays in his first ever Quidditch match. It goes worse than expected.

Harry woke up the day after the trial feeling… less than stellar. He had fallen asleep in the middle of finishing the Transfiguration essay he’d put off due to being too worried about the trial to work on it. The remnants of some twisted dreams, probably brought back by dredging up the nasty memories of his time with the Dursleys, still clung to him, making his thoughts fuzzy with darkness. His eyes were crusty with sleep, there was drool on his chin, and his throat felt scratchy and raw, like he might be developing a cold. 

Harry rolled out of his bed and stretched, then upon seeing the time and realizing breakfast was already almost finished, started hurrying to get ready for class. He quickly washed his face, pulled on his robes, knotted his tie, and shoved all of his things into his messenger bag, and he was off. 

His day got even worse when, upon his flopping down into his desk, Tracey Davis slid another fucking Daily Prophet over. Harry, still in a semi catatonic state, just stared at the piece of shit that had found its way onto his desk for a minute or two. “BOY-WHO-LIVED TAKES HIS ABUSERS TO TRIAL: FULL TRANSCRIPT AND COMMENTARY” the title screamed. Fuck the Daily Prophet, honestly, Harry thought to himself. 

He only realized he’d said it out loud, and rather loudly, too, when he heard a choking noise- which interestingly sounded a bit like a barely restrained chuckle- from Tracey Davis. He let his head hit his desk. 

“Fifteen points from Slytherin for vulgar language,” Professor McGonagall said, entering the classroom. Harry didn’t bother to lift his head from his desk. 

Harry’s day, and week in fact, was made worse by the fact that Flint was forcing the Slytherin Quidditch team to work even harder. He made them do drills over and over and over again; the first game of the season, which was also Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, was coming up that Saturday. Harry was permanently sore and tired; he didn’t hang out with his friends, barely managed to finish his homework, and didn’t have enough energy to even worry about the fucking fuckity fucker who’d gotten out of Azkaban, or the basilisk.

On Friday night, Harry went to bed several hours early to get plenty of sleep. He didn’t get to sleep easily, though, and woke up early, although, strangely, he wasn’t as nervous as he thought he would be. 

Yes, this match was important; it was the first match of the year, it was Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, it was a chance to prove himself to Slytherin. But, the team had top of the line racing brooms. They had practiced so much that every night as Harry had fallen asleep he had found himself instinctively mentally running through plays. And, just a week ago, Harry had dug up the darkest, most private part of himself and explained it to the group of the most prominent people in Wizarding Britain. This didn’t seem so scary compared to that; he was jittery, but it was manageable, and nowhere near as bad as he had been for the trial. 

The team ate breakfast together, not really talking, just sitting in solidarity as they ate their food. Malfoy, Harry noted, looked pale and worried, but the rest didn’t seem too bad. 

The air outside was heavy, hot and muggy with a cool breeze making Harry’s robes twitch slightly as the Slytherin team headed for their locker room. Dark clouds were gathering, and he thought he could smell rain in the air. 

Once they were all dressed out, Flint pulled them in for a quick debrief. He ran over the tactics again quickly, adding, “and for Merlin’s sake, someone charm Potter’s glasses to repel water.” 

Adrian Pucey held out his hand for Harry’s glasses, which Harry handed over after a split second’s hesitation. As he muttered an incantation, Flint added, “Let’s do this with a bit of… _flare_. We’ve got the extra slack for it.” 

The Slytherin team walked out onto the field to hisses and boos. The two teams faced off; Harry’s eyes flicked to the twins; George gave him a slight, encouraging nod. Flint and Wood shaked hands, although it read more like an arm wrestling match disguised as a handshake than as, you know, an actual handshake. 

At the whistle, the two teams rose for the sky. The Slytherin chasers immediately got moving, going for the Quaffle at once. They scored quickly, and were moving to score a second time, when a bludger suddenly pelted itself right at Harry. Harry ducked aside easily and headed back to catch the Quaffle, but the bludger followed him, hurtling towards him once more. Merit headed over and gave the bludger a hefty whack, sending it pelting towards the Gryffindor team, and Harry returned to play, catching the Quaffle Adrian sent over, and slipping it past the Gryffindor keeper just like Flint taught him. 

The Gryffindor chasers made a play for the Quaffle, but Flint caught it before they could, and moved too quickly for them to keep up. Slytherin was just scoring a fifth ball when Harry saw, out of the corner of his eye, the bludger hurtling towards him once again, going faster than he’d ever seen a bludger move. Harry ducked out of the way, but the bludger followed. 

“Alright there, Scarhead?” Malfoy asked from above, somewhat mockingly. 

Panic starting to rise in his throat, Harry began to move fast, ducking, diving, pulling out of the maneuvers Flint had taught, in an effort to evade the bluder that seemed to be tailing him. 

“The Gryffindors must have done something to it- FLINT!” Malfoy hollered. “SOMEONE’S TAMPERED WITH THE BLUDGER!” 

Merit and Rowan, seeing the danger, came whizzing into help. When Merit whacked the bludger towards one of the Gryffindors, however, it came hurtling back toward Harry’s again, rather like a boomerang. 

The bludger sped up even faster, so it was moving so quickly neither Merit nor Rowan’s beater bats could connect with it. Harry flew away at full speed, desperately trying to avoid it. He shot past a confused looking Alicia Spinnet, had to swerve to avoid Katie Bell, and then flattened himself against the broom to try to gain a bit more speed. 

“Alright there, Harry?” Fred asked as Harry sped deeper into the Gryffindor side of the pitch. Harry didn’t say anything. He didn’t dare look back; he knew the bludger was just behind him. It was beginning to rain; it was a damn good thing that Adrian had enchanted his glasses, or he could be dead by now. In addition to the surely painful way to go it would be, getting killed by a bludger wasn’t exactly an elegant death, and he would prefer to avoid it.

Harry pulled into a tight spin, trying to push his broom faster. The bludger was moving almost twice as fast as the normal ones now; he thought he could hear the Gryffindor team yelling to each other, but he was too busy trying not to die to hear what they were saying. 

He whizzed out of the Gryffindor side of the pitch, climbing higher. 

“POTTER,” Malfoy was hollering. “FLINT’S-” there was a rush of wind and Harry couldn’t catch what Malfoy was saying.

There was something glittering just past Malfoy’s ear- Harry slowed to look- “MALFOY!” Harry hollered back. “BEHIND YOU! YOUR EAR!” 

Malfoy turned to look- Harry slowed even further- Malfoy’s pale hand closed around the snitch- 

-something slammed into him with a WHAM- there was a horrific, vomit inducing crunching noise as Harry felt his arm break- 

-Harry dazedly noted the rush of air as the bludger pulled back for a second attack, he moved aside- 

-the bludger caught the side of his face- 

-it pulled back again, he tried to move but it wasn’t enough, and it slammed into him a third time, this time whacking into his ribs-

-he could feel them _shattering_ -

-the bludger slammed into him a fourth time- the sheer force of it knocked Harry off of his broom-

-he was free falling, a hysterical scream ripped out of his throat as the ground of the pitch approached- 

-his fall was slowing and his bad arm was feeling as though it was being ripped from its socket, he looked up and saw that Fred had managed to grab his arm, Harry vaguely registered the sound of screaming, a primitive high howl of sheer _pain_ -

-someone grabbed his other arm, which made his bad arm hurt a bit less, though tears of pain were still dripping down Harry’s face. Harry’s eyes slid shut as he tried to focus on not passing out from the pain-

-he could feel someone sliding his arm over their shoulder, supporting his weight, settling him onto a broomstick, cradling him against the comforting bulk of their chest. Harry instinctively nuzzled closer to the warmth, his self control shot. 

Bludger… where was the bludger… His mouth tasted of copper. It could be just behind them, trying to- trying to hit Harry again, catching up even now… His breathing was speeding up a bit, and it was so hard to breathe, almost impossible- his chest was impossibly tight… 

He could feel the person pull him a bit closer. “Come on Potter, you need to breathe,” a familiar voice said. It was tight with anxiety. “Breath with me.” The person turned him around slightly, pressing his face to their chest so he could feel the person’s chest moving up and down, sucking air in and letting it out. “Merit, Rowan, and the Weasley twins are keeping the bludger distracted,” the voice continued softly, soothing. “You’re safe.” He could feel the person swallow. “I’ve got you.” The voice continued speaking continuously, just repeating reassurances that he was safe. 

“Pass him down to us,” came a female voice. “If you land, it’ll jostle him.” 

Harry moaned slightly as he was pulled away from the warmth of the person.

“Alicia, you get his legs,” Harry could hear the authoritative female voice instructing. He could feel as he was passed down into new, strong arms, and then gently deposited onto something else- a stretcher, maybe. 

“Fuck off, Lockhart,” came the authoritative female voice, “he needs someone who actually knows what they’re doing.” There was a choked sounding laugh, Harry thought from whoever it was that had been holding him. It was the last thing Harry heard before he finally let himself be swept away by unconsciousness. 

The rush of wind. The warmth. The firm warmth of the person’s chest, the squirming humiliation as Harry snuggled closer, chasing the warmth and comfort… 

The bludger was following him again. Harry could sense it behind him, looming behind him. His bare feet pounded against the ground as he sprinted through the forest. 

The stars spun above him. 

“It’s your destiny to die,” a centaur said. 

Sirius Black smiled kindly up at the group, eyes sparkling with manic insanity. “Give him to me. I’m his godfather, after all.” His voice was harsh and ugly. No one noticed- or cared.

“You can have him,” Uncle Vernon sneered in agreement, the chains still looped around him swaying as if in agreement. 

“It’s your destiny to die,” the centaur repeated. 

“I don’t want to,” Harry tried to say, but it made no noise. 

“This is so exciting,” Hermione was saying cheerfully. “Your godfather! You have a godfather, Harry!” 

“He seems pretty cool,” Neville agreed. “Better than my family…” Bruises covered his face and arms. How had Harry not noticed before, he wondered. 

“It’s your destiny to die,” the centaur said. “No need to speak to the dead.” 

The Ford Angelica slammed suddenly into Harry. He could feel his ribs shattering. Ron was slammed against a tree, his skull cracked wide open, dripping whitish gray matter everywhere. Harry’s chest convulsed as though to throw up, but his rib fragments dug deeper into his abused chest at the movement. 

Someone was hugging him, cradling him to their chest- squeezing him so tightly that he couldn’t breath, choking him with one hand while gently running a hand through his hair with the other- he was choking on his own vomit, unable to breath, unable to draw proper, deep breaths- 

“When you die, can I have your Nimbus 2001?” Ron asked nonchalantly from where his remains lay. 

Harry tried to respond, but he couldn’t speak- the grip was getting tighter and tighter- he couldn’t _breathe_ -

Harry woke up abruptly, and tried to sit up, only to stop when it made his chest twinge.

“Please lay back down, Mr. Potter,” a smooth, cool voice said.

“Wh-” Harry coughed, “wh-what happened?” His voice cracked on the last word, a cool glass of water pressed itself to his lips. He took several grateful gulps. 

“The damage you sustained was significant enough that you were taken to St. Mungos,” the cool voice explained. “It is currently Monday morning; you have been in stasis while we worked to heal your numerous ailments.” 

“Oh…” Harry said a bit dumbly. “Did we, uh, did we win?” He squinted hopefully up at the healer, who he could only half see. “The Quidditch match, I mean?” 

The healer looked distinctly unamused. “I believe that Slytherin did, in fact, win the match.” 

“When I go ho- back to Hogwarts?” Harry asked next. “Can my friends visit?”

“You will be able to go back to Hogwarts once you are sufficiently rested,” the healer said, sounding unimpressed with Harry’s half hearted attempts to look cute and innocent.

“And when will I be ‘sufficiently rested’?” Harry asked a bit desperately. “And when can I see my friends?” 

“It will take a week for your body to acclimate and properly rest up,” the healer said. “If you rest up and drink all of your potions, less. Someone will be here with your breakfast soon.” 

The plate of breakfast tasted like cardboard in Harry’s mouth. He wondered who was taking care of Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk, if anybody. Was Flint mad that Harry was injured? 

The rich food left Harry feeling warm, sleepy. He fell asleep easily, without much difficulty despite his worries. 

The nurse grinned over him. “I’ve always wanted to dissect a freak,” he crooned. “Maybe this way, I can figure out how you did survive that killing curse… learn what is it, that makes you a freak even among the other freaks…” 

Aunt Petunia nodded in agreement. “Science is so fascinating,” she smiled primly. Harry felt a note of confusion- he’d thought Aunt Petunia hated Science?- but it was quickly swept away when the nurse pulled out a little silver set of scissors and began to cut. 

“Tell us about your crimes,” Madam Bones said, peering down over the operating table on which Harry lay, already half broken. 

“I killed Professor Quirrell,” Harry’s mouth spoke. “I’m the reason my parents died. I’m not a good friend. I’m ugly and stupid. I’m the reason the Slytherin Quidditch team lost at Quidditch… I cost Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon so much money… I’ve stolen and lied…” The words just kept coming and coming in an endless blather. 

“We unanimously sentence Harry Potter to life in Azkaban, with Sirius Black as his temporary guardian, for the rest of his life,” Madam Bones finally announced. The centaurs cheered loudly. 

Prison was a bland, one story building with numerous little rooms with bars on the windows. Instead of being made out of gray stone however, everything was covered in beigey salmon pink wallpaper. 

“Hello Harry,” Sirius Black grinned sadistically. 

“This is so boring…” came Parvati’s voice. “There’s not enough… enough glitter.” Her hair normally so well cared for, was frizzy and hung freely, instead of being oiled and neatly braided back. She was rocking back and forth in her cell. “Glitter, glitter, glitter,” she chanted. “Gon… go… glitter, glitter, glitter…” 

“Sounds fun, can I come?” Sirius Black asked with a grin. 

“No!” Harry tried to say, but his mouth wouldn’t move, and his head nodded up and down. Sirius Black’s grin just widened even further.

Harry was glad to wake up, that was for sure.

Harry ate lunch with some effort. He napped through the afternoon, and slept badly that night. In his dreams, Harry walked endlessly, the bludger trailing behind him, untiring, just waiting for him to slow, just waiting to crush his ribs once more...

He spent the next two days mostly just sleeping and eating. On the afternoon of the second day, Professor Sprout visited. She brought a vase of beautiful flowers, as well as some of the work he had missed, though she stressed that he shouldn’t feel pressured to do his work as the expense of his continuing health. 

Professor Sprout stayed for several hours. She told him about the state of her garden, and explained that Harry’s friends were currently attempting to gain permission from their various Heads of House in order to visit him in St. Mungos. 

Harry’s lawyers visited Harry later, to inform him that an investigation had been launched, to see if the incident had just been a accident, or if it had been some kind of assassination attempt. 

“I doubt that they will conclude that it was an assassination attempt,” Ms. Tonks said grimly. “To do such a thing would imply that the Death Eaters are still free to operate to some extent, and still a very real threat. No one in Wizarding Britain would like that to be true, and so they will likely ignore the obvious evidence that this was an attempt on your life.”

“It was the same way at the beginning of the War. For as long as they could, the Ministry brushed the existence of the Death Eaters under the rug, acted like they weren’t a real problem. It was part of the reason that they gained so much traction,” Mr. Tonks spoke up. He was dressed in less formal clothing than usual; both of them were, probably to make the healers feel more comfortable. 

“Regardless of what the media may say,” Ms. Tonks continued, “This was, I think, almost certainly an attempt on your life.” Her eyes were hard, her face looked like it was set in stone. “I would strongly suggest that you take additional measures to ensure that you are safe.

“I suggest really and truly considering moving to America,” Mr. Tonks spoke up. “Ilvermorny is a fantastic school- as sad as I am to say it, they are, in many ways, a better school than Hogwarts. Wizarding America, while not as modern as the muggle world, is still much more progressive than Britain. Getting the American branch of the Potter family custody could be quite difficult, but I think it would be possible, especially if we greased the pockets of the Wizengamot.” 

“It _may_ be possible,” Ms. Tonks corrected. “The Wizengamot is more attached to the Boy-Who-Lived than you realize, Ted.” She turned to Harry. “It’s possible, but the likelihood of it actually happening is slim, and even an attempt would likely turn Wizarding Britain’s opinion against you, to some extent.” 

“I’ll stay,” Harry said quietly. “Ilvermorny sounds fantastic, I mean, and I’d definitely like to visit America one day… but…” He swallowed. Britain was his home. It may be kind of shitty at times, but this was where his friends were. Hermione didn’t have the option to leave the bigotry of Hogwarts behind, and it seemed like it would be almost betraying her to do so.

Ms. Tonks nodded, and Mr. Tonks followed suit a split second behind. 

“As for security measures,” Ms. Tonks continued, “as a first step, I would suggest officially claiming the Potter heirship.” 

“Old families have complex wards to protect their heirs,” Mr. Tonks explained. “These wards are linked to their Lord and Heir rings, and can protect quite effectively against a wide range of circumstances. This is part of why Hogwarts’ wards have been allowed to deteriorate so far; the children of prominent purebloods on the school board are already well protected, meaning their parents have no incentive to spend Ministry money hiring ward masters to provide comprehensive work to the Hogwarts wards.” 

“That’s…” Harry shook his head. “That’s insane.”

Mr. Tonks nodded. “As far as I am aware, the wards were last updated by someone outside of the Hogwarts professors a decade or so before Dumbledore became Headmaster, and even those updates were rare and performed by cheap, relatively inexperienced warders. This has been, in the past, exacerbated by Hogwarts’ tendencies. Some previous Headmasters have grown paranoid, to the point of not wanting anyone outside of the castle to know too much about the wards, therefore significantly paring down potential ward masters to work on the castle’s wards.” 

After a moment or two, Ms. Tonks began to speak, bringing them back on topic. “Taking the Potter heirship would not be a particularly big political change. You would already have to take the Potter heirship to set a proxy in place to sit on the Potter seats. We are simply interested in this being scheduled in the immediate future, instead of at some indeterminate point.” 

“Yeah, it’s fine by me,” Harry said. 

Mr. Tonks nodded and noted something down on his clipboard. 

“I am sorry we do not have additional suggestions with regards to security,” Ms. Tonks said seriously. “Hogwarts has some very strict regulations with regards as to who can reside within Hogwarts, which prevent bodyguards and the like, otherwise we would likely suggest something along those lines. However, we will continue researching, and get back to you.” 

“Thank you,” Harry said very sincerely. It felt- amazing- to have people seriously looking out for him and his safety. It was weird, thinking and realizing that there were people who were actively looking to make sure he was safe, and would continue to be safe. 

“No problem.” 

Hermione and Padma visited the next day- apparently the other Heads of Houses hadn’t given permission for visits to St. Mungos yet. They spent so long worrying over Harry that finally, out of sheer frustration, Harry asked, “what’s going on with the basilisk?” 

“No one’s gotten killed, if that’s what you’re asking,” Padma said after a beat. 

“I’ve been distributing mirrors among the muggleborns. I told them it’s a basilisk, I hope you don’t mind,” Hermione said quickly. “I think that there is a small chance that if the basilisk looks right into its own eyes, it may be petrified by its own gaze, and anyhow, it’s better to be petrified than dead.” 

“The basilisk could be petrified by-?” Harry asked.

“Maybe,” Hermione said quickly. “Only maybe. I doubt it, because most magical creatures like that have very thick skin. Dragons, for instance, have to be Stunned ten to sixteen times, depending on breed, to be affected. It could very well be the same way with basilisks. But, there is a small chance that it might work.” 

“What about-- Black?” Harry asked. 

Hermione exchanged a glance with Padma. “There’s no news of him,” Padma said at last. 

“D’you know,” Hermione changed the subject quickly, “Hagrid got a new dog, we saw when we went down for tea yesterday. It’s not quite as big as Fluffy, but it’s still pretty big and scary looking- Ron got a right scare when he saw it, he was talking about it being a Grim. Parvati got pretty scared too, she says Grims are death omens. All sounds like hogwash, if you ask me…” 

Harry managed to put thoughts of the basilisk, and Sirius Black, from his head with some effort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy September 1st, y'all! 
> 
> I recently returned to school, and due to how busy that's making me, I don't know if I'll be able to upload once a week like I was during the summer. Sorry. 
> 
> I'm not a big fan of this chapter, but at least it's *finally* done and over with. Next chapter should be more fun. I'm planning to pick up the pace a bit, hopefully... 
> 
> Got distracted writing this, thinking about what this fic's version of the DA could be like...


	19. serpentsortia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lockhart causes even more trouble.

The night following the day Harry arrived back at Hogwarts, there was the first petrification; that of Colin Creevey, the muggleborn first year Gryffindor who had been annoying him by bugging him for photos. 

“Where are you going?” Hermione hissed, pressing through the morning crush to reach Harry. Dumbledore had announced the news at breakfast. “Don’t tell me you’re heading down to the Chamber, Harry, that’s terribly foolish-”

“What should I do, then?” Harry hissed back. “Nothing?” 

“Tell the professors where the Chamber is,” Hermione whispered, dragging them into a secluded alcove. 

“That as good as kills the basilisk,” Harry hissed back. “It’s being controlled, I’m telling you, it’s not his fault.” 

Hermione hesitated. “That’s true,” she said slowly. 

“Look,” Harry said slowly, “What if I just had a word with him? I won’t let him near enough he could get a look at me, but- I don’t know, I’ve got to try! He’s never heard me down the pipes before, but maybe-” 

“Fine,” Hermione sighed. “But don’t you _dare_ go down there all alone-” 

“I won’t,” Harry promised. 

They slipped into the abandoned bathroom. Water was pooled on the floor near the sinks. Harry wasn’t sure where Moaning Myrtle had gotten off to, but she wasn’t hanging around at the moment.

“Open,” Harry hissed. 

Nothing happened. Harry tried to swallow the wave of panic rushing through him. “Open,” he hissed again. Again, nothing happened. “Open, open, open-” he turned to Hermione in blind panic. “I’m speaking Parseltongue, right?” he asked a bit hysterically. 

“You are,” she confirmed. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I think- they must have changed the password. The Heir, I mean. They probably knew you would come for- yeah.” 

There was a minute or so’s silence as Harry considered that, and then Hermione plead, “Can we please go? This place gives me the creeps.” 

That afternoon, Harry visited Hagrid with Padma- Parvati, Neville and Ron refused to go near Hagrid’s hut, because of “the Grim”, and Hermione was busy studying.

Harry was walking up the path, when a black blur came out of nowhere, and slammed into him. Harry suddenly found a warm rough tongue raking over his face, over and over. There was a panting body atop him; Harry gingerly moved to sit up, and the body moved back. 

Harry appeared to have been tackled by a dog; a skinny black furred thing, kind of scruffy looking. Harry didn’t know much about dogs, but he thought that it looked like a bit like a German Shepherd. It had bright hazel eyes, and its tail was wagging back and forth at an unbelievable pace. It appeared to be only just barely restraining itself from tackling Harry again. 

“That’s funny,” Padma said, “He’s never reacted like that to any of us- I guess you must smell like treats, or something.” 

Harry reached out a hand cautiously. The dog didn’t seem like Aunt Marge’s dogs- he may have tackled Harry, but now he was being very polite, not moving from where he was sitting. 

Tail picking up the pace even more, the dog approached and gave Harry’s hand a few sniffs. Then, he started licking Harry’s hand. The rough moist tongue tickled, and Harry found himself laughing. His other hand came up, and he started cautiously scratching just behind the dog’s ear. “Hey buddy,” he said, a grin rising to his lips unbidden. 

Harry ended up petting his doggish friend quite a bit, whilst drinking tea and chatting with Hagrid. Hagrid seemed delighted that the dog, who was generally very polite and a bit reserved, was so taken with Harry. Hagrid told Harry all about the dog, and, with quite a bit of hesitation, Harry slowly started to tell Hagrid about the basilisk. 

Hagrid was a very receptive audience, and quite sympathetic to the basilisk’s plight. 

“I don’ know what to tell yeh,” he said finally. “I’ve got no idea how yeh’d go about gettin’ him out of under that heir fella’s thumb…” He brightened up a bit. “Still, yeh did real well, Harry. I don’t think most folks woulda been so sympathetic towards the poor fella, they'd probably jus' assume he's some typa monster just cause of his bein' a basilisk. I’m real prouda ya.” 

Harry tried rather futilely to hide his blush with a big gulp of tea. 

The next morning, Harry got a letter from Tonks. 

_Dear Harry,_

_I’m glad to hear you’ve gotten out of St. Mungo's! I’m not happy that you were ever in St. Mungo's in the first place, though; I imagine Mum and Dad were really worried as well, although they would probably try not to show it because Dad’s all “professional relationships”. Don’t worry, they care loads about you, and I’m sure they’ll keep you safe, from whoever pulled that thing with the bludger at least._

_I’m sorry it’s taken so long, but the contact who I was talking about is finally back in Britain. He travels quite a bit, and just when I thought I had him persuaded to head home for a bit, apparently something quite urgent came up! He’s an expert in Magical Creatures, however, and is rather well known, in fact, for being able to help even the stubbornest, shyest and deadliest of creatures, which the basilisk appears to have all three of in abundance. In fact, he actually wrote the textbook people use for Care of Magical Creatures, nowadays!_

_I still haven’t quite explained the situation in full to him, but I will soon. I think he knows Dumbledore, so he should be able to get into Hogwarts without too much trouble, and I bet he’ll do loads of good for the basilisk._

The rest of the letter was mostly personal stuff, small talk about how Harry was doing. Harry resolved to respond, explaining everything that Tonks had missed so far. He should try to find Ssslshh’hhkhh too, she’d been missing for about a week before the Quidditch match, and now he was genuinely worried. What was she up to? Was she alright? Had she gotten trapped in the Chamber when the entrance was closed? 

Harry tucked the letter away and resolved to write later, returning to his breakfast. The current conversation revolved around the Quidditch match, or, more accurately, the incident with the bludger. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the Gryffindors, trying to sabotage our game,” Malfoy said rather pompously from where he sat with his hanger-ons. 

“It wasn’t,” Harry said abruptly. Eyes skittered towards him; suddenly, a good bit of the House was very much in tune with what had previously been an insignificant conversation. 

Potter interacted with his housemates rarely, and generally on a pretty low level. He made small talk with Davis and Zabini at times, mostly about homework, and even then often didn’t speak in full sentences, just short one word sentences. Blaise may often internally gripe about Potter’s aloofness and unwillingness to act as a part of Slytherin, but compared to how Potter acted in relation to the rest of the House, he was down right _chummy_ with Blaise. 

Other than Zabini and Davis, his most prominent interactions with his house were with the Slytherin Quidditch team. He didn’t express any opinions beyond his desire to beat Gryffindor, his now infamous (within Slytherin, which had a _very_ active rumor mill) statement of “fuck the Daily Prophet, honestly” and his statements that Malfoy was a “Nazi”, whatever that was. 

So, everyone watching simply looked at him, waiting for him- hoping for him- to elaborate. The incident had shaken up the House quite a bit, and in fact the entire school- from the jarring near death aspect of it, to the even stranger occurrence of the Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch teams _working together_. 

Harry shifted uncomfortably under the gazes of way too many, way too involved upperclassmen. This was why he didn’t speak up more. 

“What makes you think that?” Blaise finally asked. 

Potter shrugged, looking uncomfortable. There was a long moment, and then he said, “It just doesn’t fit. If someone on the Gryffindor Quidditch team was going to do something, it would be Fred and George.” And they wouldn’t target him, was the implicit statement. The house still remembered when the Weasley twins had threatened Draco Malfoy on Potter’s behalf. 

There was more silence, another opening for Potter to speak. Potter seemed uncomfortable in the silence, and reluctantly filled it; his mouth twisted upwards in a wry hint of a smile. “I’m sure I’ll be as fine a Chaser as ever,” he said, then, turning to Davis, “I don’t think I quite understand the essay prompt for Transfiguration, do you?” 

There wasn’t much Harry could do with regards to the Chamber, or for the custody hearing, which was coming up all too quickly. 

At least one thing went well- Tonks’ contact arrived at Hogwarts. A few days after her letter, Assistant Care of Magical Creatures Professor Newton Scamander was introduced to Hogwarts at large. He seemed nice enough, but Harry wasn’t sure if he would really be able to help- he seemed kind of, well… Harry would try to reserve judgement. 

There were rumors that Dumbledore was trying to get the school board to authorize a team of Aurors and wardbreakers to move into Hogwarts and comb the castle to find the Chamber, but that the school board wasn’t giving him even an inch of ground. Dumbledore’d get that authorization, Harry thought grimly, when half the muggleborns in Hogwarts were either dead or petrified. He wished there was something he could do to help… 

He knew Hermione was working on trying to learn the fundamentals of wards, but… so far mostly she’d learned that wards were incredibly, almost ridiculous complicated, and that even with her genius, there was no way she could learn how to break the ward on the entrance to the Chamber. 

Harry tried to keep calm, and not get stressed. He ended up spending a lot of time at Hagrid's, with Hagrid’s new dog- who he had named King, for the aloft way he behaved around everyone except Harry- or studying. He would spend more time practicing with Fred and George, but they seemed to be pretty busy, and he didn’t want to bug them about it. 

King was amazing. He was friendly but not aggressively so, and very polite. He always listened when Harry talked, and Harry meant really _listened_ \- he thought King was as smart as Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk, even if Harry couldn’t speak canine like he could speak Parseltongue. Harry and King would sometimes go wandering around the grounds.

Harry loved the misty beauty of the moors surrounding Hogwarts, the rocky beach around the far edge of the lake, where you could skip stones across the black, mirror-shiny surface, and the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, where it looked as though the leaves had been lit on fire. Sometimes Hagrid came with them; sometimes he was too busy. 

When Hagrid came he would tell Harry the names of all of the plants and point out the different signs of animals; he knew the forest like the back of his hand. Harry always felt safe, even when he was just wandering with King; as sweet as King was, he had some pretty big teeth, and he always knew the way back home, even when Harry didn’t. 

Even King couldn’t protect him from the upcoming custody case, however. It had already been pushed back an almost ridiculous amount, and now, well, it was coming, and nothing anyone did could possibly stop it. 

Just a week or so before the case, Gilderoy Lockhart’s new dueling club held its first meeting. 

Lockhart swept about the stage, his deep plum robes billowing behind him as he rhapsodied on the importance of dueling, and his use of his _extensive_ skills throughout his various adventures. 

“Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape,” Lockhart, waving towards Snape, who was dressed in black as usual. Compared to Lockhart, he looked even more Snape-like than usual; his hook nose looked bigger, his sneer even more sour, his skinny, tall frame even skinnier and taller. “He knows a bit about dueling himself, and he has sportingly agreed to help out! Give Professor Snape a hand, gentlewizards and gentlewitches!” 

As the other Slytherins clapped, Ron leaned in. “Wouldn’t it be good if they finished each other off?” 

Hermione shot Ron a glare, but Padma giggled, and Neville cracked a small, nervous looking smile. 

Following their bows, Lockhart and Snape each fell into position. 

“One — two — three —”

“Exx- _pelliarmus_!” 

Harry couldn’t help but cheer along with the rest of the Slytherins; but even as he did so, he couldn’t help thinking that if Lockhart had really been as good as he said he was, he would have shot in a quick spell as Snape was enunciating his. Shouldn’t dueling be all about casting as quickly as possible?

“-yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don’t mind my saying so, it was _pretty_ obvious what you were about to do,” Lockhart was saying. “-I felt it would be instructive to let them see, as it segues quite nicely into our lesson on how to block...”

Snape looked even more murderous than usual. Harry begrudgingly admired Lockhart’s ability to continue talking under that homicidal glare. 

“If I could have a pair of volunteers, if you please!” A bunch of squealing fans, mostly young witches, thrust up their hands and began eagerly waving them about, hoping to get picked. 

“I think perhaps,” Snape said, “It would be prudent to simply choose from the crowd at large, seeing as most of the volunteers are more likely to drop their wands than anything else. Mr. Malfoy, if you would.” He gestured to the stage. 

Malfoy ascended the stage, smiling smugly. 

“As for the second,” Snape began, 

“-Mr. Potter,” Lockhart interjected. Harry swallowed roughly and climbed onto the stage. Snape looked even more sour than before, if it was possible. 

“Now Harry,” Lockhart said, “When Draco points his wand at you, you do this.” He started wiggling his wand about, only for it to slip out of his hands. 

Harry nervously tried to remember what Fred and George had taught him, watching as Malfoy straightened his robes.

Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder. “Not need to be nervous! Just do what I did, Harry!”

My best bet’s to dodge, Harry decided. Malfoy’ll probably go on two. I’ll wanna hit back when he’s not ready. 

“Three- two-” 

Harry didn’t manage to dodge quite properly; Malfoy’s spell hit him like Aunt Petunia’d cuffed him about the head with the cook pan, but everything seemed mostly in order, so he shouted back, “Rictusempra!” Malfoy doubled over, wheezing and giggling uncontrollably. “Expelliarmus!” 

Malfoy managed to block it. “Tarantallegra!” He cried. 

Harry just dodged this one, taking several steps out of the way. 

“Expelliarmus!” Malfoy called, and Harry’s wand was yanked out of his hands; Malfoy caught it, smirking smugly. 

“An excellent demonstration,” Lockhart said, “But, Harry, you’ve got to block- none of this muggle dodging, you’ve got to block.” He again demonstrated the wiggling motion thing; it looked rather different than it had last time. Snape, meanwhile, was whispering something in Malfoy’s ear. 

“Three- two- one- go!” 

“SERPENSORTIA!” 

A thick, long snake burst out of Malfoy’s wand, fangs dripping venom as it surveyed its surroundings. The crowd backed away, screaming. 

Without even thinking, Harry said, “Sssit down.” The snake lay down, fangs sheathed. The room was dead silent; Harry didn’t dare up look from the snake, even as he mumbled, “Expelliarmus.” He caught Malfoy’s wand with a slight fumble.

“Ssspeaker,” the snake said, staring at Harry. 

Harry sighed. “Yup. Do you know the trouble you’ve causssed me?” 

The snake shrunk away in fear. 

“Sssorry,” Harry said. “I’m not really mad.” 

“Ssspeaker,” The snake said again. The snake didn’t seem particularly intelligent. 

The snake vanished in a puff of black smoke. Snape was looking at Harry, his face calculating. 

“Malfoy!” Harry called. 

Malfoy looked up; he looked pale, almost fearful. Not very surprised, though- _he had known_ , Harry suddenly realized. He’d heard Harry talking to Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk. That was why he had apologized to Harry. Trying to keep his face neutral, Harry lobbed Malfoy’s wand back over towards him before hurrying out of the hall. 

When Harry entered the Slytherin Common Room several hours later, having gone on a long walk with King, he’d expected it to be about as full as usual, with the Slytherins there eyeing him curiously. He hadn’t expected what looked like the entire house, waiting for him; when he entered, those who were sitting rose. 

Harry suddenly felt very self conscious. He was still kind of sweaty from his walk, his hair was a mess, and his glasses were askew. “I’m not the Heir.” 

Polite silence. Harry sighed. “Look, I was raised by muggles, I’m friends with Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, one of whom is a muggleborn. I’m not the Heir of Slytherin.” 

The room nodded politely. Harry got a distinct impression that not one single person believed him. 

Malfoy stepped forward. “My most sincere apologies and deepest regrets for my actions,” he said, with a deep bow. 

Harry sighed again. “I’m _sure_ ,” his tone grew pointed and a bit sarcastic, “you had no idea I was a Parselmouth, in which case there is no need at all for you to apologize for a mere accident.”

Malfoy grew a few shades paler. Harry resisted the urge to face palm. 

“I wish to speak with you with regards to Quidditch,” Marcus Flint said. “I had believed you had originally tried out for the place of Seeker?” 

“While I thank you for your consideration,” Harry said slowly, “I see no need for any switch in the arrangement of the Slytherin Quidditch Team. I had believed the trials were meant to dictate which positions are assigned to which people.” 

Marcus Flint nodded and stepped back. 

Signe Ashcroft stepped forward next. “House Slytherin wishes to ensure that your personage is unharmed,” she spoke smoothly. Her head was lowered slightly, demurely almost. “House Slytherin proposes that a rotating guard of upperclassmen ensured that no heckling from Gryffindor or the other houses may cause any harm to you or your allies.” 

“While the care behind this thought is appreciated, I see no need of it, seeing as I’m _not the Heir_ ,” Harry said, a bit exasperated. A couple of Slytherin firsties flinched at his tone. 

“Our House maintains the same stance as always,” Soren Bishop said, stepping forward. “One of neutrality, and unity. One of our own is being falsely assumed to be something he is not, and it is our duty to protect him from harm. This is not about politics.” Harry was surprised that Bishop could lie through his teeth so smoothly. 

“Again," Harry stressed, "There is no need." 

"No need?" Niore Oleander asked coolly, stepping forward. "Do you forget the bludger, and the great damage it did to you?" Her eyebrow rose elegantly. "Are you certain there is _no need_?" 

Harry flushed. "My safety is my concern, and my concern alone," he said as coldly as he could manage. “I’m going to bed.” He turned and hurried out. 

Three upperclassmen were waiting for Harry outside of his dorm the next morning. 

"I'm Diana Deverill," A seventh year with dark, curly hair said. "Please, call me Diana."

"I'm Hiro- Itsuki Hironaka."

"Dominik Behr. Please, call me Dominik." 

"Oh, well, look at that," Harry said, "I don't care, seeing as I'm not the Heir, and you are _not_ going to be following me." 

The group exchanged glances and followed Harry. Halfway to the Great Hall Harry whirled around. "Ssstop following me," he hissed. None of them flinched. "Sshoo," Harry said, allowing the silibant hisses of Parseltongue to cling to his voice. "There's no need for you here." He whirled around and continued walking. They followed. 

Harry had just barely entered the Great Hall, his new sort-of bodyguards flanking him as he did so, when Luna stood up, and began to speak- in _Parseltongue_.

“I am not a ssspeaker,” she hissed silibantly, “but my friend who is vouches for me.” 

There was dead quiet for several seconds, then Neville stood. “I am not a ssspeaker,” he managed a bit messily, “but my friend who is vouchesss for me.” 

Parvati stood. “Don’t bite me!” She hollered in Parseltongue. 

“Hello,” Padma hissed. “I will give you food if you bite hi- _her_.” She gestured slightly towards Parvati. 

“I am not a ssspeaker,” Hermione hissed, “but my friend who is vouches for me.”

Ron stood as well. “I am not a ssspeaker, but my friend who is vouches for me.” 

There were a few seconds stunned dead silence, then Fred and George started clapping. 

Harry slid into his seat next to Blaise, and slammed his head into the table. 

"Quite alright there, Harry?" Blaise asked blandly. 

" _Fantastic_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sssahhhhthh," Potter hissed. The snake lay docilely before him, fangs sheathed. Draco's wand was yanked from his fingers; he was too stunned to even try to block. Potter's hand flicked upwards and he caught it.
> 
> "Sss'thhhee," the snake hissed. 
> 
> Potter appeared to sigh, looking bored and a bit annoyed. "Ssssooeesshh'thh'esshhh ssshhhkkkch... sssassshhiii..." 
> 
> The snake shrunk away, looking afraid. 
> 
> "Ssseeeiiiissssshhhchhhk," Potter hissed. 
> 
> Professor Snape stepped forward, and with a wave of his wand, the snake disappeared. 
> 
> "Malfoy!" Potter called. 
> 
> Draco looked up, swallowing hard as he tried to school his face into an expression of surprise. It didn't seem to fool Potter, however; Potter's face grew a bit harder.
> 
> Merlin hex it, Draco thought furiously. I'm doomed.


	20. clubhouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracey takes a risk.

Something had to be done, Tracey decided, and she thought she knew how to do it.

Tracey was a Slytherin, through and through. She could be cold and calculating at times. She did her best not to show her emotions. She was subtle and shrewd and full of heady ambition. 

However, she was also a halfblood. Her father was the third son in a minor line, and her mother, a muggleborn witch. Both had been Gryffindors, and, although they had not fought in the War, had been firmly against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Her brother, Benjamin Davis, or “Benny” as he was generally known, was a pretty popular fifth year Gryffindor; Tracey didn’t say hello to him in the halls, but still, everyone knew they were siblings. 

Tracey was very much the dorm punching bag. Greengrass didn’t really acknowledge her at all, but Parkinson always had something to say. The pug nosed bitch was always make snide little comments about the way she looked, how she dressed, how she spoke or acted or _was_. She destroyed Tracey’s homework and “borrowed” the books Tracey checked out from the library. She messed with Tracey in every way she could think of. 

Greengrass would act disapproving, sometimes making little comments about proper conduct, but she never stopped Parkinson, and sometimes the corner of her mouth would flicker upward at one of the nasty things Parkinson said. 

Malfoy always seemed amused by Parkinson’s behavior, as did his two goons, Crabbe and Goyle. Nott, like Greengrass, was too aloof to make any comments one way or another; as far as Tracey could tell, Nott only ever interacted with Blaise and Greengrass, and spent the rest of the time studying. Blaise, on his part, acted like he didn’t know what was going on, and didn’t bother to put an end to it. Tracey wished he would actually do something, but she wasn’t really in a position to negotiate, as he had all the cards and all the power, so she let it be. 

Attention from Malfoy may be Parkinson’s motivation, but her partner in crime was Bulstrode. Parkinson was always the instigator, but Bulstrode tended to be a bit more physical, doing things like tripping Tracey, instead of just taunting Tracey. When Parkinson wasn’t there, though, Bulstrode seemed to run out of steam quickly, and generally just ignored Tracey.

Parkinson and Bulstrode argued sometimes, usually about Bulstrode’s cat, Circe, getting cat hair around, and Parkinson could be pretty cruel, with Bulstrode always being the one to give in; Parkinson also often gave “friendly” advice about how Bulstrode should eat less or have a better skin care routine. Bulstrode was from a minor Hufflepuff family, and had a muggle great grandmother; if Tracey wasn’t there, Bulstrode would probably be the runt of the litter always getting beat around, and it showed. 

As for Harry? Harry was an enigma, through and through. Like Nott, he rarely spoke or interacted with anyone in Slytherin. All through first year, he’d been considered to not be a real Slytherin, in part because of his close knit group of friends, which was primarily comprised of blood traitor Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, with a muggleborn thrown in for good measure. 

Harry didn’t seem to notice what was going on with Tracey; it was almost certainly genuine. Not only did Harry work to distance himself from Slytherin and seemed determined to pay as little attention to in house politics as possible, Parkinson didn’t do or say anything when Harry could overhear. Harry may be a really shitty friend, what with the fact that he basically never spoke to Tracey or noticed her problems, but he was an exceptional ally, providing protection for the cost of some basic information here and there.

Tracey was reasonably sure that Harry wasn’t the Heir. She believed that his attachment to Granger was genuine, and he seemed to disapprove of blood supremacy talk from Malfoy. And, he was a halfblood himself, with a muggleborn mother. Plus, if Harry was the Heir, he would have to be an exceptional liar who’d schemed and schemed to keep up a cover of a harmless psuedo-Gryffindor; someone that intelligent wouldn’t behave in the way the Heir currently was. 

She wasn’t sure how many in Slytherin thought that he was the Heir, but she did know that he was getting a whole lot of respect for his Parseltongue abilities. Even his friends, who were probably just hissing random nonsense and not actual Parseltongue, had gained quite a bit of respect within Slytherin. Slytherins started leaving a little more room for them in the halls, and people were starting to bite their tongues when they moved to call Lovegood “Looney”. 

Then again, people didn’t seem to respect Granger much more; there was a lot of talk about “the Founder’s sacred language in her filthy mouth” but Tracey was a halfblood, not a muggleborn. 

Here’s the thing. 

Tracey wanted more than this. She wanted to hiss something right in Parkinson’s ear and see her flinch. She wanted Blaise to respect her; instead of her working to be rewarded with his attention, she wanted him to work to be worthy of her time. She wanted Parkinson to fall silent whenever she entered the room. She wanted Bulstrode on _her_ side, whispering gossip in _her_ ear.

She wanted it like a deep ache in her stomach, like a burning fire in her soul. She wanted. 

Tracey broached the topic during History of Magic. She wrote in her best cursive and slid the note onto Harry’s desk without looking up. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as his brow wrinkled slightly. 

There was a long moment. 

Harry slid the note back. 

_Why?_ His chicken scratch handwriting asked. 

Tracey searched for a non threatening answer, something that would appeal to him. 

Half bloods could advance surprisingly far in Slytherin- as long as two conditions were met. One, that they were skilled enough in something to catch attention and befriend a pureblood family, and two, that they rejected their old family in order to be psuedo-adopted/sponsered by the new family. One had to be quite skilled to gain this attention, however, and Tracey didn’t have those kind of abilities. 

If she got the opportunity, would she sacrifice her shaky relationship with her family for power? She didn’t know.

Anyway, Harry definitely didn’t understand the nuances of that, so writing that it was the only avenue to power that didn’t involve sacrificing her relationships wouldn’t make sense to him. 

Tracey’s time was running out, so she decided to go with humor. _I’m not planning to take over being Heir of Slytherin, if that’s what your worried about, _she wrote. She slid the note over and tried to keep her anxiety hidden. She didn’t think it was likely that Harry was the Heir, but if he was, that had been a Bad Idea.__

__Harry fiddled with his quill for a long time, then finally wrote out, _Meet me after class. Quickly._._ _

__“You have noticed that everyone thinks I brainwashed my friends into joining the cult of the Heir of Slytherin, right?”_ _

__That was probably the longest sentence Harry had ever spoken._ _

__“Joining a cult has always been on my bucket list,” Tracey answered, as casually as she could manage._ _

__Harry just stared at her a moment, then said, “Bucket list?”_ _

__Tracey’s heart pounded frantically in her chest. Purebloods, she remembered, didn’t have bucket lists. Her mum had one, half finished, but purebloods and Heirs of Slytherin sure as hell didn’t._ _

__“You should probably be careful about that,” Harry said after another few seconds. He sighed, turned on his heel, and started walking. He had only gone about ten steps when he said, “Aren’t you coming?”_ _

__Tracey scrambled to catch up._ _

__Harry was almost never in the Slytherin Common room; as far as Tracey could tell from Blaise’s comments, he was really only ever slept there. Slytherin didn’t really know where he went. There was some speculation from those in Gryffindor that he disappeared to the Chamber to spend time with the Monster of Slytherin._ _

__The truth, it appeared, was that he spent his time in a secluded corner of the library._ _

__The Hogwarts library was a real labyrinth, full of twists and turns and places to easily get lost. Most of the time, students asked Madam Pince to find books for them, as she was one of the few people who actually knew her way through the mess of it. When students studied, they did so in the wide open space which had tables for that purpose, or, if they wanted privacy, at the tables in the wide open spaces between the newer bookshelves. No one studied in the the tangled mess that was the older part of the library- except, it seemed, Harry Potter._ _

__Harry led Tracey deep into the labyrinth of bookshelves. He easily stepped around stacks of old books on the ground and ducked under other stacks that were floating mid air. Tracey was pretty sure they were near the Restricted Section by the time Harry rounded one last corner and they reached their destination._ _

__Tucked near the section on dragons was a small reading nook; there was a circular, beautifully carved table, and arrayed around it, a footstool, what looked like several bar stools, and two arm chairs, one of which was an enormous velvet thing which looked like it could hold three or four people, the other a smaller blue thing, with an odd bright orange burn mark on one of the arms. Light was provided by some floating candles, as well as a lamp attached to one of the bookshelves._ _

__Some of Harry’s friends were arrayed around the table; Granger was sharing the enormous armchair with one of the Patils; there were books and parchment covering their part of the table. The Lovegood girl was curled up in the blue armchair and appeared to be dozing, a brightly colored quilt wrapped around her and a Quibbler fluttering with every soft snore. Longbottom was sitting on one of the bar stools, laboring over an essay. Harry’s Weasley friend and the second Patil were nowhere to be found._ _

__“Hey guys,” Harry said, kicking his bookbag under the table. “This is Tracey Davis. She’s here to learn Parseltongue.”_ _

__Lovegood startled awake, sitting up quickly and blinking eyes that were far too blue. Her eyes fell on Tracey at once. “You have a very nice aura,” she said sleepily. “Not as much tonal variation as Harry… thought that was a Slytherin thing, but maybe not…”_ _

__Tracey glanced at Harry a bit helplessly. He shrugged._ _

__“You aren’t going to tell anyone about this, right?” Granger said, looking right at Tracey. She was surprisingly intimidating, buckteeth and bushy hair notwithstanding._ _

__“Of course not,” Tracey said quickly. “Not the-” she gestured to the space in general, “or the other thing.”_ _

__Granger glanced at Harry. “Can I talk to you for a moment, please?”_ _

__Harry nodded. Granger slipped out of the gigantic armchair and the two left._ _

__“We should ask Parvati to read your palm,” Lovegood said thoughtfully. “Do you have a water hand? I think you do. Water tends to be aligned with Slytherin, you know, and you seem very Slytherin indeed…”_ _

__“That’s not why she’s here,” Longbottom said, casting Lovegood a meaningful look. “She’s just here to learn Parseltongue.”_ _

__“For now,” Lovegood said._ _

__“I’m not planning on doing anything,” Tracey said, thinking that Lovegood’s comment about water signs and Slytherin had been a subtle way to cast suspicion on her. “I won’t sabatoge you, or anything.”_ _

__Lovegood blinked in what looked like genuine confusion. “Of course not.”_ _

__Harry and Granger returned._ _

__“The Monster of Slytherin is a basilisk,” Granger said without preamble. “I suggest carrying a mirror as a precaution. Harry will teach you a phrase that should help you should you encounter the basilisk.”_ _

__Tracey’s mouth dropped open slightly._ _

__“I know,” Longbottom said. “She can be a little scary smart, sometimes.”_ _

__“We can all be a little bit scary sometimes,” Granger agreed. “Especially Fred and George, when they think someone might be hurting Harry.” She looked right at Tracey. Tracey shivered slightly. Granger smiled. “Sit down, why don’t you?”_ _

__Tracey sat._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be much longer, but I decided to split it into two chapters instead.
> 
> Luna's remark about Tracey getting her hand read is because she thinks that Tracey is joining their group, and she wants to know Tracey's sign as a way to understand the next group dynamic. 
> 
> Slytherins are frankly, often really difficult to write. There's often a lot of nuance to Slytherins, especially with those more deeply entrenched in pureblood/wizarding culture. Slytherins are human, but they are not necessarily good. Is Tracey a good person, or would she use power irresponsibly if she had it? Is Bulstrode a bad person, or is it Parkinson who is the bad person? Or is it society, and the way it pits those in situations of minimal power against each other?
> 
> Anyway. Sorry about that.


	21. ward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial.

Harry was glad to find that Tracey was a pretty quick learner, and dedicated, too. In the five days or so left before the trial, she managed to master not only the safety phrase, but also “hello”, “food”, and “goodbye”. 

Aside from teaching Tracey, Harry wasn’t very productive. He still couldn’t get his bodyguards to stop flanking him in the halls during the time between classes, Slytherin still thought he was the Heir, and Fred and George kept on teasing him by parading in front of him shouting, “Make way! Heir of Slytherin coming through!” 

Harry was well and truly worried about Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk now. At this point, she was most definitely in brumation, leaving her very vulnerable if any predators found her. He was torn up with guilt and anxiety; she had done so much for him, and he couldn’t find and protect her when she probably really needed it? She could be _dead_ , and it would be his fault!

As for the trial, Mr. and Ms. Tonks were currently in a state of extreme anxiety, trying to deal with the whole Parselmouth reveal thing, which was swinging public opinion heavily towards him going with the Greengrasses. They worked hard and did their best, but by the time the trial arrived... Harry wasn't as optimistic as before, that was for sure. 

The very atmosphere of the trial felt different. Last time, the Wizengamot had been on his side, and now, he could feel in his bones that they… weren’t.

The Weasleys spoke first. Fred, George and Ron had all agreed to testify along with their parents. 

The Weasleys had worked with Harry’s lawyers to prepare their statements. Mrs. Weasley spoke first. She spoke passionately, but, Harry thought despairingly, it came off a bit as though she was lecturing her children, not addressing the Wizengamot, and she stumbled over her words a couple of times. Each time she did so, some of the Wizengamot members’ lips would curl, and others would wince slightly. 

Mr. Weasley spoke next. He’d always been quieter than Mrs. Weasley, and seemed to wilt slightly under the weight of the judgement of the Wizengamot. His speech wasn’t particularly good or bad, but it was- forgettable. 

Ron was the next speaker. He looked pretty nervous, but with several big breaths, he managed to say, “It feels odd to talk about adopting Harry, because, uh, it feels like he’s already part of the family,” he began. Under the table, Harry ripped at his nails. 

The twins also spoke. They were surprisingly good orators, making jokes that caused some of the less uptight members of the Wizengamot to chuckle slightly, and drawing the audience in. Harry started to relax. 

That was, until the Greengrasses spoke.

Lord Greengrass was aristocratic looking; he wore elegant robes and had ramrod straight posture. He had green eyes and dark hair like Harry, but his skin was pale enough you could see the blue blood flowing through his veins. 

He was an exceptional orator, his way of speaking almost hypnotic. He spoke about the importance of good child rearing, about the weight of duty. He spoke passionately, beautiful, about the importance of tradition, of inheritance. Harry saw some of the older wizards and witches wiping their eyes. He portrayed the issue in grand, sweeping terms; that to send Harry to live with the Weasleys was to place the next generation in infirm, unfit hands, and to send Harry to live with the Greengrasses was to make the generation strong, based in tradition and fit to take up the mantle of adulthood when the time came. 

Lady Greengrass spoke next. “We would be delighted to receive young Harry into our family,” she began, her voice an upper class lilt. Her speech was shorter than her husband’s had been, and focused a bit more on specifics; she spoke of all of the classes and tutoring Harry would have available to him, all the pureblood-y stuff Harry was missing out on and could learn. With every remark, most of the Wizegamot hummed with agreement. 

“Any ending statements?” Cornelius Fudge asked. 

“One quick statement, if you please, Minister,” the youngest Greengrass began. When the Minister nodded, she said, “I would like to point out, we have a Quidditch pitch!” the youngest Greengrass said cheerfully to the room at large. She looked to be about nine or ten, with pale, bluish gray eyes, and black hair with a hint of curl to it. “I’ve always liked watching Quidditch, personally, and I know that Mr. Potter plays on the Slytherin team. This would allow Mr. Potter to practice and become better at Quidditch.” She curtsied. “Thank you, Minister.” 

There were quiet ‘awws’ around the room and remarks on how precious the young pureblood was. Harry didn’t buy it.

The Wizengamot began to question the custody candidates- although it was more accurate to say that the Malfoy voting bloc began relentlessly questioning the Weasleys, poking and prodding and insinuating. Harry focused on breathing properly; under the table, Harry’s hands fisted so hard he thought he might get bloody crescents from where his nails dug into palms. Harry had foolishly thought this would be as bad as, or maybe even easier than the Dursley’s trial- but it was worse, much worse. 

He knew what was coming, knew it in his bones. He knew it from the same place the instinct to brush away the muggle teachers' questions had sprung. He knew it in the same way he had known to lie and skirt around Madam Pompfrey's questions. He knew it in the part of him which had sworn Ron to silence, the part of them that had whispered with every word he told the Aurors, _this is too good to be true_. 

The Wizengamot took a recess to deliberate.

“I want you to know,” Mrs. Weasley told him, “even if we don’t get custody, you’re still always, _always_ welcome in your family.” 

Harry nodded, mouth so dry he couldn’t have spoken even if he wanted to. He barely heard her. 

Harry didn’t flinch when they told him the Greengrasses would receive custody. Dry eyed he looked at the table, face blandly neutral. _This is why we don't fucking ask for help,_ Harry thought. _This is why we don't fucking say something. This is why we don't show weakness._

“Hello,” the smallest Greengrass said politely. “I’m your new sister, Astoria!” 

Harry’s lips moved up in a cursory smile that read like a flinch. “Harry Potter," he said, a bit absently. The only way to overturn this, Harry knew, would be if anyone in the will came forward, and they were all dead, or driven mad by the cruciatus, or motherfucking traito--

“Nice to meet you, Harry,” Astoria said, holding out a small hand. Harry shook it automatically. Her hand was small, long fingered, satiny soft. Her nails were neatly shaped and manicured, and painted to be a glossy jewel tone. At nine, Harry’s had been bone thin, blood and dirt under the nails, calloused. Harry ended the handshake as quickly as he could without being impolite. 

“I don’t know if we’ve been formally introduced,” Daphne Greengrass said. “I’m Daphne.” 

Harry nodded. “Nice to meet you, Daphne,” he spoke robotically. Her hand was similarly long fingered and soft. Half of the reason the backlash against the Dursleys had been because they were muggles. There were undertones of anti-muggle sentiment to the outrage; it wasn't just, the Boy-Who-Lived was placed with an ab- bad family, it was, he was placed with a bad family, and even worse, one of muggles. If the Greengrasses hit him, or didn't give him food, or stuffed him in a cupboard, there would be no huge spread or outraged title splayed across the Daily Prophet.

Lord and Lady Greengrass introduced themselves as well. What they were saying didn’t really register. The panic attack that he’d been staving off was about come crashing down on him.

“Excuse me, Lord Greengrass,” Harry said once there was a break in the conversation. He caught Mr. Tonks eye, and something must have shown in his face, because suddenly Mr. and Ms. Tonks fell into flank him as he exited the courtroom. _This is why we don't fucking tell people when we're weak,_ Harry thought again, abruptly. 

“You doing alright there?” Mr. Tonks asked, sounding worried.

Harry wasn’t fucking _alright_. He slid to a sitting position against the wall. He wasn’t fucking alright. Who the fuck would look at him and think, there is a well adjusted person, with a loving family, who doesn't want them as a slave or a political tool or- 

A glass was pressed to Harry’s lips. He swallowed the calming draught, sighing with relief as his hands stopped shaking, and he started to be able to breathe properly. 

He shoved himself to his feet. “Right,” he managed. “Let’s go.” Mr. and Ms. Tonks hesitated, but he started walking fast, and they followed him out of the chamber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hnnnngh... sorry? 
> 
> I don't really like this chapter. I'll try to make the next one better, hopefully you guys aren't too disappointed. I'm going to try to pick up the pace, which'll probably lead to more telling and less showing, but to get to the really good stuff soon, that's what we're gonna have to do. 
> 
> As you can see, Harry's trust/willingness to ask for help is taking quite a hit. This will have consequences.
> 
> I've been pretty busy recently, otherwise I would post two chapters. In addition to the usual stuff, we got kittens on Wednesday, and I've been spending a lot of time trying not to cry over how small and soft and adorable they are. I thought I was a dog person but now? I have two cattos who I would die for and I don't know how to handle this?


	22. yuletide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Greengrasses expect Harry home for Yuletide.

Harry scratched his name onto the list of people staying at Hogwarts over winter break, quill almost breaking under the pressure. 

“Mother and Father are expecting the entire family Yuletide,” Daphne Greengrass spoke. She was sitting in a chair near the wall where the list had been posted, probably anticipating this very happening. 

Harry ignored her, flourishing his y slightly and then blowing on the ink to dry it. 

“I know you wanted to be placed with the Weasleys,” Greengrass said softly, with surprising candor. “Please think. A place in our manor, a spot in our family- that’s a step up in the world. We can offer you so much. What can the Weasleys truly offer you? ” She examined Potter’s face, trying to parse out if she had chosen the right approach. His face tightened slightly into a sullen, annoyed look, but he scratched his name out. 

That isn’t what I’m interested in, Harry thought with frustration as he left. I may be a Slytherin, but I don’t want to be some chess piece, a pawn for you purebloods on your high horses to play around with and manipulate however you please. I want to powerful in my own right. 

Well, if he was going to have to be staying with them... Harry didn’t really think that they would starve him (there were so much more elegant ways to torture someone), but better safe than sorry; he headed to the kitchen and asked the elves for two weeks worth of nonperishable food. 

He packed with the same strategy as he had for the Dursleys- but this time, instead of hiding his wand and school books in his messenger bag, it was the muggle clothes than he had stolen last summer, the money he’d converted to pounds when he last visited Diagon Alley, the worn birthday card he’d gotten from his neighbor so long ago, the muggle little bits and bobbers he had filched from the Dursleys and kept. 

He also added his other more personal, but still magical, things. The Weird Sisters vinyl, the flute Hagrid have given him, all of the stuff he’d gotten at debate night. He wrapped the messenger bag just like before, put his terrarium in the trunk- he felt a pang of guilt as he did so, that he was leaving Hogwarts without Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk- and headed for the train, dread curdling his stomach. 

This was supposed to be different, he thought, remembering last summer. 

He sat with his friends on the train. They tried to cheer him up at first, and eventually gave up. Tracey, who was sitting with them starting briefing him on the members of the Greengrass family he would likely be meeting.

Most of it slipped right in one ear and out the other, as he was too anxious to pay much attention, but some stuff stuck. The previous Head of the family was still alive, which was apparently rare. “Most families only allow for inheritance if the previous Head is dead,” Tracey said lowly. “In the Greengrass family, one becomes the Head of House if you disarm the current Head in a duel, which is rather more sensible than the alternative.” 

Apparently, Daphne’s uncle had married a Russian witch solely so that his child would be able to go to Koldovstoretz, which was both very exclusive and very difficult to graduate from, Tracey told him.

Apparently, Daphne’s aunt was a famous wizarding poet, and her great uncle, who’d married into the family, was “new money” who had, according to a rumor that Tracey recounted in a bare whisper, acquired his money by way of creating ink that could be injected into skin to create magical tattoos. 

Hermione’s head shot up. “Like-” 

Tracey nodded jerkily. “Apparently, a large amount was stolen from him sometime in the 1970s, and he has no affiliation.” She lowered her voice even further, looking around cautiously. “It’s theorized he used the ink to buy his family neutrality.” 

“Could they have actually, really stolen it?” Hermione asked. "Wouldn't... he.... just take it?"

“It can be only used for a limited range of things, if it’s not activated by a spell only he knows.” Tracey said. “That’s how he’s so rich, along with the fact that they use his ink to tattoo the Azkaban prisoners. 

Hermione started asking questions, and Harry kind of zoned out, trying not to panic. 

As Harry exited the train, Daphne neatly fell into place beside him. Her trunk, an beautifully carved thing with ivory feet, walked more elegantly than Harry did. Harry tried not to touch his messenger bag, even though he really wanted to reassure himself that everything was still hidden inside it. 

Lord Greengrass was wearing green dress robes and was talking with what Harry was pretty sure was Blaise’s mother. (She had the same resting face as Blaise did; that is, one that looked like the wearer was trying to suppress a laugh about a joke that you didn’t know.) 

Lady Greengrass was talking quietly with Astoria, who was dressed in starched robes, her hair curled; she looked like a porcelain doll, if porcelain dolls wore dress robes. At the sight of those stiff, perfectly folded pleats, Harry was suddenly, violently reminded of Aunt Petunia. _If Dudley was a girl,_ Harry thought, _she would dress her like the muggle version of that._ A shudder ran through him. He desperately wished he was staying at Hogwarts.

They apparated to get home, the world twisting into a colorful blur. Harry felt his body being yanked and shrunk, as if someone was trying to pull him through the eye of a needle; and then suddenly he was slamming back into the ground. Harry barely managed to stay on his feet, and very nearly threw up. The bile tasted bitter as he swallowed it back down. 

“My apologies,” Lord Greengrass said, looking apologetic. “I had forgotten that Apparition is a new experience for you.” 

Harry didn’t answer. He’d already forced his face back into a neutral position, and was now was busy looking around, taking in the new surroundings. 

They appeared to be in an entrance hall of some sort. It was large and glamorous, and although the style was old, everything was clearly in fantastic condition. The wallpaper was a Victorian green; the stairs’ wood was polished to a high shine, and the stair runner seemed to be made out of silk. 

There were a few paintings on the walls, as well as a coat rack and umbrella stand. Harry pretended to be so interested in one of the paintings on the walls that he didn’t notice the others removing their coats; if he removed his jacket, it would reveal the uncovered strap of his messenger bag, and give his ruse away. 

It wasn’t difficult to pretend to be fascinated by the painting. Just like paintings in Hogwarts, the painting moved. But the painting wasn’t of some old wizard or witch; it was of a lake, frozen over. Beneath the ice Harry could see fishes moving, swimming slowly by, and under them, a woman. Her eyes were closed, and held to her chest was a sword. The lady of the lake, Harry thought. He wondered how much of the legend of King Arthur was true. 

“I imagine Harry would like to settle in a bit, and rest from his trip,” Lord Greengrass said. “We can postpone the tour until after dinner has been served.” He glanced at Harry slightly questioningly. Harry half-shrugged awkwardly, surprised at having his opinion asked. 

“That train food wasn’t very substantial, I imagine,” Lady Greengrass agreed, nose wrinkling ever so slightly. “Monny, show Harry to his rooms.” 

There was a small popping sound and a house elf appeared. “Welcome home, Master Harry,” the house elf squeaked enthusiastically. She- he? Lifted Harry’s trunk into the air with a wave of a hand, and began to lead Harry up the stairs. 

The rooms intended for Harry were way too large, way too good looking. There was a huge bed, covered in silken covers, and the floor was cushioned with a thick, expensive looking rug. There was a walk in closet, about the size that Harry’s cupboard had been, and completely empty, an opulent bathroom whose mirror thought Harry needed to dress better, and a study. 

Harry ran shaking fingers over the varnished wood of the chair, the huge desk with all of its drawers and pigeon holes, the bookshelves just waiting for books.

Harry put his schoolbooks on the bookshelves. He hung his school robes and his one set of formal dress robes in the closet, then shoved his trunk under it. Harry was still searching for a proper place to hide the rest of his things, the things that _really_ mattered, when Monny appeared in the middle of the room.

“Lady Greengrass wishes to check if Master Harry is prepared to dine,” Monny said. 

Harry blurted out, “Are you meant to be my personal house elf?” 

“Yes, Monny is!” Monny said very enthusiastically. “Monny has never had a master before, and Monny is most excited and delighted to serve Master Harry the very best that Monny can.” Monny bowed deeply. 

“So my orders are prioritized above the others? Above Daphne’s parents, I mean?” 

“Yes,” Monny said. 

“In that case,” Harry said slowly, “You are to inform me if you are in need of anything whether that’s more food or just someone to talk to or- or if you want to go free. Even if you just want one of those things, and don’t need it, tell me.” 

Monny gaped at Harry. “Monny would- Monny would never! Monny is a good house elf- Monny wouldn’t- Please don’t give Monny clothes, please Master Harry-” 

“I know you’re a good house elf,” Harry said, wincing slightly. “I’m sorry. But- please tell me if you need anything, alright?” 

Monny nodded quickly. 

Harry drew in a shaky breath. “And, if you don’t want to do something I asked of you, tell me that too. I don’t want to make you do something you don’t want to do.” 

“Monny will always be delighted to serve Master Harry!” Monny declared. At Harry’s look Monny said, “But, if this ever did happen, Monny would tell Master Harry.” 

“Good.” Harry felt something in him loosen slightly. “In that case, I want you to tell anyone who asks that I fell asleep on the bed, presumably because I was tired from the trip. Also, if any of them try to come into the room, warn me before then- if you don’t mind, I mean. And, one more thing- where’s a good spot to hide some stuff I don’t want them to find?” 

“Monny will do as Master Harry says,” Monny said, nodding determinedly. “Monny believes that the best hiding place in the room would be under the floorboards. Monny could create a warded area, with a password?” Monny suggested shyly. 

“Sounds fantastic.” 

Once Harry had hidden away his things, and Monny had left to go lie to the Greengrasses, Harry sat down gingerly on the soft bed. He had originally been going to lay down and try to go to sleep, but he felt like lying down might make the covers wrinkle. 

Harry knew putting off interacting with the Greengrasses wouldn’t help anything but… he just really fucking didn’t want to have to deal with them, with their pureblood mindset, the huge void between them and him.

Harry got up and started pacing. He’d never liked the Dursleys, and he had figured for a while now that Hogwarts was his home, but for some reason, he was suddenly hit with a longing for the taste of greasy crisps, for the distant noises of traffic, for wearing jeans and a t shirt instead of these weird robes. 

Harry kept on pacing. He went off on a long mental tangent thinking about robes, but his thoughts ended up somehow looping back to the Basilisk. 

The basilisk was fucking big, venomous, and could kill with just a bit of eye contact. Harry was twelve years old, small and skinny, and knew about fifty spells on a day when he was remembering things particularly well. 

A thread of thought started to rise to the top of his head. Dragons in muggle fairy tales often had weak underbellies, or spots in their necks that weren’t covered properly. Harry wasn’t sure if the basilisk had an armored underbelly or not, but maybe there were some weaknesses. 

Not that Harry was thinking about trying to fight the basilisk, Hermione would kill him. Just… Harry liked to be prepared. (And he had a feeling this would somehow end up following to him; the professors didn’t exactly have the best track record with dealing with this type of stuff.) 

Harry would rather not bet on muggle fairy tales to protect his life, but he didn’t exactly know much about weak points on magical creatures. He mostly knew weak points on humans, from personal experience. Weak points like ears, which he’d been dragged by, or the stomach, which Uncle Vernon had kicked him in during the incident, or eyes (back when Harry was very young, and Aunt Petunia still helped him bath, he’d gotten shampoo in his eyes about a thousand times), or a half dozen or so other places. He didn’t think basilisks even had ears. 

But they did have eyes, Harry thought suddenly. The eyes were half the danger, too- if it ever came down to it, he should really go for the eyes. Of course, going for the eyes would put him at much more danger of being petrified- unless he figured out a way to avoid eye contact, that is. 

The invisibility cloak. And a mirror, maybe. 

Harry felt himself relax slightly. It felt good having a semi workable plan. Not that he was going to try to fight a basilisk. This was all hypothetical. 

Harry ate dinner from the supplies he’d brought from Hogwarts, and slept badly. In the morning, he asked Monny about the library. He knew Hermione was always interested in new books, and he had this itch to steal something. Although he supposed since he had been adopted, the library was kind of his as well. 

The library was huge, and very impressive, though Harry decided that Hogwarts’ was still better. Harry found some books on a variety of topics, from warding to that he thought Hermione might like, and he researched basilisks some more, with Monny’s help. There wasn’t a whole lot on them; Harry got the impression that basilisks were exceptionally rare. 

One book hypothesized that to survive to adulthood, basilisks required interaction with a Parselmouth, which could explain that. Most of the stuff was on how to use their venom, bones, skin, etc. Harry learned that basilisks had exceptionally tough skin, and that their venom had strong magical properties that meant crystallized basilisk venom was a powerful, and very volatile, core. He didn’t learn anything on how to defeat basilisks, but due to the thing about skin, he decided to cross “neck and underbelly” off his mental list of possible weak spots on a basilisk. 

Harry had managed to avoid eating breakfast with the Greengrasses by having Monny say that he was sleeping in, and he almost tried to avoid lunch by saying he wasn’t feeling well, but decided against it. He would need to interact with them at some point, and lunch would probably be short, compared to if he had to eat dinner with them. Plus, if he established signs of illness from early on, the lie would be more believable. 

Harry took a bath in the fancy bathtub and scrubbed himself until he was gleaming, then got dressed in his school robes. He spent a while fiddling over his hair, then ended up just giving up on it. Once Monny’d glamoured him to look paler than normal, and even done something to make him sound slightly congested, Harry headed out. 

It wasn’t just Daphne and her immediate family. There was an older man who must be Lord Greengrass’ father; he asked Harry to call him Seanair. The Russian side of the family was also there; they had apparently arrived that very morning. There was “Uncle Conan”, a skinny looking man with glasses, “Aunt Matroyna” and their daughter, Sonya Greengrass. 

Lunch itself was a very blue blooded affair. There were far too many forks; Harry watched what Daphne, and then imitated her choice of utensil. Duck, Harry found, tasted kind of like dark meat on chicken, except more flavorful. The lemon meringue pie was really good, though. 

The conversation was alright, too. Lady Greengrass and her father in law made sure that things never got too slow, and with so many people there, Harry barely had to speak at all. Harry got the impression they were trying to let him settle in, get less shy, but he was glad for the reprieve all the same. Plus, he enjoyed hearing Sonya Greengrass’ stories about Koldovstoretz, which she’d just graduated from. Even if some of the stuff she casually mentioned made him kind of afraid of her. 

Harry made it through dinner as well, and skipped breakfast the next day by “sleeping in”. The whole “being sick” excuse worked only two days; on the third day Monny came back with a Pepper Up Potion.

The table was even more full up than before; it looked like the entire family was there. 

“Good morning and Happy Yule,” Lady Greengrass said. “I’m glad to see that you are feeling better.” She gestured to a chair between Sonya and Daphne. Harry gingerly sat down, trying to not let sitting next to Sonya freak him out. 

“This is Harry Potter,” Lady Greengrass said. She went around the table, introducing the others. Harry could already tell he wouldn’t remember most of their names. 

“I can’t help but wonder about that quote in the New York Ghost,” the poet- she’d said that Harry could call her Auntie Catriona- began. “I know that Hogwarts has no literature classes, but surely there are still the book clubs?” 

Harry didn’t answer, expecting that Daphne would, or someone else. When no one else did, he swallowed his bit of food rather resignedly and said, “I’m not aware of any.” 

Auntie Catriona hummed thoughtfully. “Aside from the Lord of the Rings series, what books have you read?” 

“I haven’t had much time to read for pleasure, due to school,” Harry sidestepped. 

She smiled. “I don’t expect you to have read and dissected all the classics, if you’re worried about that,” she said. 

Harry took a long moment to chew his food, then said, “I enjoyed Sherlock Holmes when I was younger.” He’d also read a lot of comics, but he wasn’t exactly going to mention that to her. 

Harry suddenly remembered his first friend, Courtney, how she had suggested that speaking to snakes was a superpower. It was that comment that had gotten him interested in comics; when he wasn’t feeling up to dredging through the denser Tolkien stuff, he’d often read Spider-Man comics. He’d sometimes daydreamed about becoming a superhero like Spider-Man, but Snake-Man just didn’t have the same ring to it as Spider-Man did. 

“I haven’t heard of that author,” Auntie Catriona said with an embarrassed smile.

“I’m not surprised, it’s muggle,” Harry said blandly. 

After that, people didn’t really prod him to talk, and Harry enjoyed his meal in relative peace. 

Harry reluctantly joined the others in the parlor for Yule celebrations. The parlor was decked out in mistletoe and holly and ivy, and there were long candles that let off a soft scent of cinnamon. It should have been relaxing but Harry was still very much filled with a longing to _not be here_. 

Some of the Greengrasses played a card game with tarot cards. There was lots of food, from a weird oatmeal like thing called frumerty, to plum pudding and minced pies. Harry drank a lot of cider and carefully watched the game of tarot until he thought he almost knew what was going on. 

As morning turned to afternoon, the family started going around in a circle, telling stories. Some of them, like Conan’s story, were personal stories from their daily life, but most of them were older tales. Aunt Matroyna told them an old witch’s tale from Russia, Daphne’s grandfather the origin of the Greengrass name, Great Aunt Jessamine the old legend of the Holly and Oak Kings. Astoria had just finished telling the Fountain of Fortune when everyone started looking at Harry expectantly, evidently wanting a story. 

Harry slowly finished chewing his food. “I can’t think of a good tale,” he said after he swallowed. 

“You could tell a story from your own life,” C.C. Greengrass suggested. “If you find that nothing much of interest has happened to you, you can always make something up.” 

They were all looking at him expectantly so Harry started trying to think of a good story, how to do this. They all watched patiently as he finished his plum pudding. He slowly set down his fork and discreetly wiped his sweaty palms off. 

“Harry was standing in one of the corridors, admiring a painting,” Harry started rather abruptly, “when he smelled a really awful smell. It smelled like someone had raided all of the boy’s dorms at Hogwarts, ground all of their dirty clothes up, and made it into a perfume. As Harry smelled this nasty smell, he also began to hear an equally awful sound. Not nails on chalkboard or a professor assigning an essay,” (a few people chuckled at that, causing Harry to flush slightly), “but the sound of heavy footfalls, like something absolutely gigantic was walking towards Harry.”

“Harry quickly ducked behind the first door his saw, which turned out to be the door to the boy’s bathroom,” Harry continued. “However, the heavy footfalls followed after him. As he waited, Harry pulled out his wand and tried to think of useful spells. He barely knew any spells, however, as it was the second month of school. The only spells he could think of were the severing charm, and the hover charm.” 

“The footfalls came so close that door swung open and you could see the owner himself. The owner was as big as his feet, twelve feet tall with gray skin and a nasty expression on his face. Harry tried the severing charm first, but it didn’t work, so he tried the hover charm next. Harry had one of the sink whack into the troll, but the troll didn’t react. However, the troll was fascinated by the sink, so much that Harry was able to slip past. The troll realized Harry was gone and started slowly after him. Harry sprinted onto one of the moving staircase, just going to the other side as it disconnected. The troll tried to leap the gap, but instead fell to a staircase below breaking his ankles. The professors eventually collected him, and he survived, but was noted to have a life long fear of staircases, and a fascination with sinks.” 

Harry blushed at their applause, even though it was probably just patronizing polite applause. 

They stayed up the entire night, and as it began to bleed from night into day, Harry and the Greengrasses gathered around the smoldering remains of the Yule Log. 

"The wheel of the year has turned once more, and the earth has gone to sleep. The nights are long and dark, and on this night, the longest and darkest of all of them, we celebrate the light. Even in the darkest hours, even in the longest nights, the spark of life lingers on. Laying dormant, waiting, ready to return when the time is right. Tonight, the darkness begins to retreat, and light begins to return once more. The wheel spins, the journey continues, life begins once more. So mote be it." 

In the morning, there was a pile of presents at the foot of Harry’s bed. The Greengrasses gave Harry so much stuff he felt like he was Dudley. There was a dragonhide wand holster that fit perfectly on his arm. When it came to clothing, there were impossibly soft socks, as well as gloves and a scarf of the same material. They even gave him a gorgeous bound journal with thick, creamy paper, and a whole bunch of books for his desk. 

The best presents were from his friends on Christmas Day, though. There was a big tin of treacle toffee from Hagrid, a book on the Chudley Cannons from Ron, a face mask from Parvati, and a bunch of super high quality parchment from Padma. From Neville there was a box of chocolate frogs, and from Luna, some beautiful pressed flowers. 

The very best of it was from Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley. Hermione gave him a luxury eagle-feather quill, but also something much better than that, if also much cheaper. Two cheap muggle paperbacks, spines cracked. The titles read, The Colour of Magic, and the Light Fantastic. 

_I was originally just going to give you the quill,_ her note read, _but after you sent all those fantastic books, I just had to give you these. They’re not new, I hope you don’t mind, but they’re fantastic, I think you would really enjoy them! If you like them, I can always send you more!_

From Mrs. Weasley there was a sweater. A Weasley sweater, just like the one that Ron had gotten last year. It was Slytherin green, the H written out on it a creamy gray, and while it wasn’t as soft as the stuff the Greengrasses had given him, Harry looked at it and suddenly knew nothing the Greengrasses could give him would ever be better than this. 

Harry told Monny to tell the Greengrasses he had stayed up late the night before reading and had ended up sleeping late. He pulled on his new sweater, dug into his plum cake, and cracked open The Colour of Magic. When he removed his face mask an hour or two later, his face felt fantastic, and he felt a lot better overall. 

Harry managed to make it through the rest of the winter break without too much pain and suffering; Yule with the Greengrasses wasn't as bad as he had thought it would be- but still, Harry was very grateful to return to Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am. so tired right now. 
> 
> i dont really feel very good about this chapter tbh. I could have easily made this into two or three chapters and i'm not sure if one chapter is enough but... whatever i guess
> 
> everything about yule is from my research and not personal experience, i'm not pagan, i don't know how accurate this is, if i made some error, please tell me. also... i haven't read all of discworld, but I have read The Color of Magic and The Light Fantastic (albeit a while ago) and both are fantastic. also Seanair, as far as I know, means grandfather in Gaelic, but i could be wrong.
> 
> there's a lot of worldbuilding and stuff in this one (great uncle greengrass and the magical ink, how much of the legend of king arthur is true, archaic inheritance) if you guys wanna talk about it in the comments, i'm definitely interested. 
> 
> also!! my catto friends are doing well! they're pretty mischevious tho. they like to crawl up into the mechanisms of armchairs when they're out and about, and also a couple of days ago wiley climbed all over my keyboard and somehow? turned the interface upside down? so there's that


End file.
